


Life After Dethklok

by WriteAnon



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series), Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, This Is STUPID
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-06-25 07:25:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19740967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriteAnon/pseuds/WriteAnon
Summary: Pretty self-explanatory. Dethklok in Hell, HAZBIN HELL. Written in the style of a Metalocalypse episode, so expect silliness.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say? This idea got stuck in my brain and this is the only way I stay sane.

Life After Dethklok Chapter 1

“Urgg…” he grumbled, eyes fluttering open. “Orrgh… my head…”

It’d been a while since Nathan Explosion had felt quite this terrible. His body felt hot, fuzzy, his mouth different, strange, and his body bent and bunched in odd places. Last time he felt like this, he and the others had been drinking paint thinner to counteract the paint they drank earlier that night.

“Awww… [sh*riff*](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5v9daghmPfs)!” Pickles groused groggily. “Were we drinkin’ paint again?”

“Probably. Gonna say we were probably, _definitely_ drinking paint,” Nathan rumbled, sitting up.

He looked around, they were in the middle of a dusty, unfamiliar road, the starless night sky was a strange reddish hue. He moved to rub his eyes when he saw them; in place of hands he had large, black-furred paws, his thick fingers tipped with sharp, pointy claws.

“Huh.”

He looked around at his bandmates. Pickles, the drummer, was some sort of gross-looking gorgon with no mouth. The top of his head was still bald but in place of his crown-line dreadlocks he had wreaths of writhing red snakes. Skwisgaar Skwigelf appeared to be some sort of snow-white elf creature with glowing eyes and golden hair. Toki Wartooth, the rhythm guitarist, was an adorable dog-thing, sort of like a wolf but not even remotely cool looking. Finally, was William Muderface, the bassist: he hadn’t changed at all.

“Ugh,” Nathan grumbled. “We gotta stop partying with furries. Those freaks don’t mess around.”

“Nots the firsts times we’s woken ups in animals costumes,” said Toki, standing up to look at himself. “Oh wow-wee! I’ms a bads-ass wolfs-guy!”

“Mores likes a sissys puppys ats littles girlses pink birthdays partys,” Skwisgaar said, flicking his ear. “For ladies.”

“Ow!” Toki flinched. “Ats least I’m nots some stupids elfs!”

“Uh, Nathan?” Pickles said, speaking from the mouths of one of the snakes on his head. “I don’t think these are costumes…”

“Aw f*riff*, we’re still high, aren’t we?” Nathan slapped a paw to his face, feeling his snout. “What the f*riff* am I?”

“A bear,” said Pickles, his tone flat. “Just, like, just a bear.”

“A badass bear? Like, uh, like if Yogi went, I dunno, rabid or something and mauled that dipsh*riff* ranger?”

“More like Smokey the Bear,” said Pickles, stifling a laugh. “Or that one bear with the cereal that tastes like ass.”

“Yeah, Nathans! Yous can’ts gets enough of that Sugars Crisps!” Toki said, laughing.

“For breakfasts.”

“Awww Pish! What do I look like?” Murderface grumbled. “Oh no, don’t even tell me. I’m shum hideoush toad thing, aren’t I?”

The band paused and examined their completely unchanged bandmate and nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Yep.”

“Prettys much.”

“You saids it.”

“Great!” Murderface crossed his arms, scowling. “Guesh I’ll just have to kill myshelf if I can’t be beautiful!”

“You might wanna put a pin in that, there, Murderface,” said Pickles, pointing to behind them. “Anyone else seein’ that?”

Dethklock turned around and gazed up at a towering neon sign heralding a massive city in the distance. It read: _Welcome to Hell! Population: a Fuck-Ton!_

“Huh,” Nathan sighed. “F*riff*.”

  
[DOODILY DING DONG TICK TOCK](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5IzEncyqfgw)

  
The Tribunal sat at attention. The alarm had been sounded and they had assembled. 

Something terrible has happened.

Senator Stampingston took the fore, standing at the head of the room, backlit by a wall of screens, each portraying a member of Dethklok in various states of medical care. “Gentlemen. Dethklok is dead.”

A round of concerned gasps rose from the the assembled world leaders.

Vater Orlaag spoke next. “Dead? We would not be here if they were dead.”

“The term stands. Legally and clinically speaking, all five members of Dethklok are dead. How their bodies maintain biological functions is a medical mystery currently under review. We believe that the circumstances surrounding their current state may shed some light. With me is Dr. Straaker Von Orlitz-Brakenaurberg, head of the Belgian Institute for Greater Slavic Myths and Lore. Dr. Von Orlitz-Brakenaurberg?”

A ghoulish gentleman in a paisley suit stepped forward. “When investigating Dethklok’s luxury suite, the Minsk Police Department’s CSI discovered what we believe to be the cause of this catastrophe: the Belarusian Five-Headed Pit Viper, a rare and highly valuable snake. Its venom has been used by Slavic mystics for millennia for the purported spiritual journeys it induces. Legends assert that should two or more people be bitten by the viper simultaneously, they will enter a death-like torpor and walk the astral plane together. It is rumored that only a spiritual revelation and self-actualization will return the souls to their bodies.”

“And all members of Dethklok were bitten by this snake?” General Crozier said, his face pulled into its usual scowl.

“No,” Senator Stampinston replied. “All save for William Murderface were bitten. He was found in the bathroom, where he presumably tripped and hit his head on the toilet.”

“If Dethklok remains effectively dead, this could have serious repercussions the world over.” Vater Orlaag surmised. “An economic power vacuum the likes of which we’ve never seen would ensue. The vultures will circle to pick apart the corpse of their empire; mega-Corporations will fight like dogs over rights and deeds while parasitically siphoning money from the bereaved populace with sentimental Dethklok memorabilia. All to fund their massive legal battles against one another over the most profitable properties. The economy will stall, factionalism will run rampant and, as a global recession settles in, only war can follow.”

A voice sounded from the back of the room, dry and ancient as a crypt; none other than the enigmatic Mr. Salacia. “Dethklok wanders the astral plane, seeking the truth of their existence. For now, we wait.”

* * *

  
  
Dethklok trudged through the filthy streets, walking past heaped garbage bins and demons in various states of violence or sex, sometimes both. They looked around at the bizarre angular architecture and bizarre angular demons, the red and black color palette lending everything a slightly greasy appearance.

“So… we’re in Hell,” said Pickles.

“That’s what the sign said,” Nathan grumbled.

“Thoughts on that?”

“We’re gonna do what we always do. We’re gonna f*riff* around and wait for the problem to solve itself.”

Pickles shrugged and nodded. “Sounds good, but I gotta ask; does anyone else think this place… sucks?”

“It’s Hell?” Toki offered. “It’s supposeds to, I thinks.”

“No, I mean, like, it _sucks_. It’s lame.” Pickles gestured at the city and demons around them. “It’s just some big sh*riff*ty city with a bunch of mismatched dipsh*riff*s runnin’ around! Where’s all the blood and fire and torture and all the other crap like that?”

Murderface spat on the sidewalk. “It’sh like shomone put Vegash and Detroit in a blender and shet it to Hot Topic.”

“Withs some DeviantsArts throwns in,” Skwisgaar sneered as a fat demoness shambled out of the alley, appearing to be some kind of rainbow colored dog-thing dressed like a circus tent.

“I likes it!” Toki said, beaming.

“We ain’t in Hell!” Nathan barked. “We’re just really, really high! This sh*riff* ain’t new! Right now we’re just f*riff*ing around in Minsk, seeing some super dumb sh*riff*, and we’re gonna come down in a few hours and everything will be fine.”

“Yeah, this ain’t the first time we’ve been on a shared hallucination kick,” Pickles said, tugging at one of his snake heads. “I just figured that our brains could come up with a better Hell than this bullsh*riff*.”

“Maybes we’s thinking this up because we’d hates it?” Skwisgaar offered. “We’d like normals Hells, this place is just annoyings.”

Pickles nodded. “Yeah, okay, fair enough. I’m definitely feelin’ that I’d go f*riff*in’ nuts if I had to stay here for eternity.”

“What we need to do is find a place to come down. A motel or something,” growled Nathan. “Settle down and ride this stupid sh*riff* out.”

“Hows abouts this place?” Toki said, pointing to the building behind them.

Dethklok turned around to see a large building looming over them. It was baroque and Edwardian in design, with blinking eyes and strange artifacts dotting its structure. The enormous neon sign taking up most of the high roof read: Happy Hotel.

“Happys…” Skwisgaar said, disgusted. “Hotels? _Happys Hotels?!_ This Hells ams dildos!”

“Thish Hell f*riff*ing shucks!”

“Maybe it’s bein’ ironic and it’s some kinda torture mansion like _Hostel_?”

“I likes its!” Toki said, clapping. “It looks neat withs the eyes and stuff! Wow-wees!”

“Ugh, whatever. My feet hurt,” Nathan sighed and marched up the driveway. “It’s doable.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (UPROARIOUS LAUGHTER AND CHEERING)
> 
> Heh, HH makes for some really fun crossovers.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Don't go! There's more!

Chapter 2

Mordhaus hovered in the night air, its massive rocket turbines spewing flame and light as they stirred the very sky itself. The mighty fortress was quiet and somber, the solemn atmosphere for one day overcoming the oppressive brutality of Dethklok’s base of operations. The tiny outlines of grief-stricken fanatics could be seen casting themselves from the courtyard and into the swirling clouds below, hoping to join their lieges in the afterlife.

Charles Foster Offdensen stood at the nerve center of Mordhaus, various Klokateers rushed about him as they feverishly went about their work. The former band manager unphased by the disaster that gripped the fortress.

“Sire,” said one of the Administrative Klokateers. “Hourly report: the world’s lead medical scientists and renown mystics have responded to our general summons and will be here on the hour. All are confident they can restore our Lords to semi-functionality.”

“Very good. What is the state of the world so far?”

“Deteriorating.” The Administrator activated a screen containing several disastrous graphs and live video feeds of carnage and rioting. “Global stocks recorded a nigh-uniform decline, now to fifteen percent of their former value. Trade and industry has all but ceased and riots have broken out in every major city on earth. The global suicide rate has quadrupled in the past eight hours alone.”

“As expected,” Charles turned to the quintet of screens showing Dethklok as they lay in the Mordhospital, all manner of tubes and machinery hooked up to their supine bodies. “Prepare an official statement for the world governments: Dethklok is alive and well. They are being given the best care humanly possible and will have recovered fully within a week.”

“Yes, sire!”

Offdensen lingered at the screen, his keen gaze picking out the pair of angry, purple puncture marks on the arms of most of the band. His eyes narrowed. “Fetch me a copy of the hotel’s shipping records and room service documentation. See if any deliveries were made to the master suite.”

“Yes, sire!”

“In the meantime I will be conferring with the members of the Church. I leave Mordhaus to you and your team.” Charles turned and left the room, muttering to himself. “I have a feeling I know who’s behind this…”

* * *

  
Dethklok burst through the front door in the foyer. Sitting behind the desk was a black and white winged cat wearing an expression of supreme disinterest and disgust. “Aw Christ, it’s you klok-kultists again. We don’t take solicitors, f*riff* off!”

“We’d like to buy five rooms, luxury suites, full bar access, and, uh, don’t skimp on the room service… we’re gonna need that.” Nathan looked down at his paws and grimaced. “Like, a lot.”

“Oh, yes!” The grouchy attendant said, his smile as sour and acerbic as cheap Kentucky bourbon. “Right this way, sir! Maybe you’d like some caviar? Or perhaps some Don Perignon? Oh! I know! How about a laser activated robomaid to scratch your ass while she yanks your pud!”

“You gots those?” Skwisgaar said, interested.

“Uh, no,” Nathan grumbled, busting out his Dethklok Triple Umbral Black credit card. “Just the luxury suites. We got some sh*riff* to sweat out.”

The cat man scoffed and prepared to launch into another tirade when Nathan tapped his card against the chip reader, which promptly hissed and sizzled, dark tar-like ichor burbling from its various ports. He gawped at the dying, spasming machinery as Dethklok brushed past the desk and into the lobby. Standing in the hallway were two women, they were unusual in that they appeared to be human, unlike the bizarre creatures on the streets or behind the front desk. The nearest one, a petite grey-skinned, white-haired woman, turned and looked them up and down.

“Uh, hello?” She said. “Can we help you?”

“Hey there, shugar,” said Murderface, walking up to her and casting an arm over her shoulder. “If you could jusht show ush to our roomsh, that’d be great. Oh, and get hopping on the room shervice, I got a hankering for shum champagne and Doritos. If you do a good job, I might jusht let you hang around my playsh for a bit and–”

An instant later and Murderface was face-down on the floor, the offending arm twisted back and up, the demon lady’s stiletto heel on the back of his neck. “AAAAAH! SHIT! WHAT’SH YOUR PROBLEM YOU CRAYSHY BITCSH?!”

“Vaggie!” Exclaimed the other woman, a taller blonde chick with white skin and rosy red circles on her cheeks.

“Uh, hey,” Pickles said, stepping forward. “We just checked in. We’re lookin’ to–”

The blonde girl gasped, a huge smile spreading across her face. “You did! You are? Oh! Vaggie, look! Clients!”

Vaggie nodded at the other four, still twisting Murderface’s arm. “Hey.”

“Hellos!” Toki said. “I likes your hotels! It’s so cools!”

“Hello everyone, I’m Charlie Magne, the proprietor of the Happy Hotel and on-site redemption expert!”

“Redemption?” Pickles said, curious. “As in, what, gettin’ outta Hell?”

“That’s right!” Charlie said, tapping her elegant, pointed nose and pointing at Pickles. “Here at the Happy Hotel, no sin is too great!”

“Please don’t affirm our drug trip,” said Nathan. “Look, we just want a place to stay and sweat this paint outta our system.”

“Oh?” Charlie’s smile brightened, somehow, and she clapped her hands, summoning two winged goat demons dressed in tuxedoes. “Maybe _this_ will change your minds…”

Vaggie sighed and twisted Murderface’s arm some more to the complete indifference of his bandmates.

The Goats set up a grand piano and the lights in the hall dimmed, a spotlight illuminating the chipper hostess as a fluttering musical intro played. “I have a dream! I’m here to tell…”

[[One minute and forty one seconds later…]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QEoki3x-rew)

Dethklok stood in stunned silence as the showtune tapered off. Charlie stood, her arms raised as her demonic features faded, fire and demonic energy swirling around her. “So! What do you think?”

“Uhh…” Nathan mumbled, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “Honestly? You can hold a tune, but your sound-mixing is kinda all over the place.”

Charlie’s smile dropped like a stone. “Whuh?”

“Yeah, vocals and instrumentals gotta be distinct, or at the very least complimentary, y’know?” Pickles added. “There’s just a lotta audio clutter and overlap in the latter half of the song.”

Skwissgaar scoffed, his arms crossed. “Amateurs hours.”

“I likes the message, but yeahs, it needs works,” Toki added, an apologetic look on his face.

“WILL SHOMEONE GET THISH CRAYSHY BITCSH OFFA ME?!” Murderface roared.

“Everyone’s a critic…” Charlie grumbled crossing her arms, her smile returning an instant later. “Anyway! Welcome to the Happy Hotel! The Bois here will escort you to your rooms. Dinner is at 6, we’ll get together and discuss your treatment!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey!” Pickles said, hands forming a t-shape. “Time out there, Charlie! Treatment?”

“Yeah!” She chirped. “Here at the Happy Hotel, we mend souls and redeem sins! See, it’s a hotel because you check in and then _leave_ , right?”

A look of horror and disgust spread across Pickles’ face. “Oh, sweet Christ… this is a _rehab clinic?!_ ”

He turned to bolt out the door when Nathan grabbed him by the arm and hauled him back. “Ah-bup-bup.”

“Nathan, you don’t understand! Rehab f*riff*ing sucks! They make you get all feelsy and _introspective_ and–”

“I said my feet hurt!” Nathan roared. “We already paid for the rooms.”

“Fine!” Pickles grumbled before calling out to the team. “Band huddle! C’mon! You too, Murderface, get over here!”

Dethklok huddled around each other, their voices low and conspiratorial.

“Alright, so we’re in a rehab clinic,” said Pickles. “…In Hell.”

“We knows?” Skwisgaar said. “The songs was prettys clear.”

“We ain’t in Hell!” Nathan said, fed up. “Look, we’re gonna stay here for a bit and come down. Just do whatever this twee chick says.”

“Except for the rehab sh*riff*. Trust me, it f*riff*ing sucks.”

“I dunno Pickle,” said Toki. “She seems nice! We shoulds gives it a chance!”

“I dunno about you guysh, but I think that shpicy li’l tamale liksh me…” Murderface said, rubbing his shoulder. “You guysh think I should put shome of the ol’ Murderfaysh moves on ‘er?”

“Yes.” Nathan’s face split into a malicious grin. “Definitely.”

“Go for it,” said Pickles, chuckling.

Skwissgaar smirked. “Totallys into yous, Moidaface.”

“Thats seems likes a bads idea.”

“I’m with Toki,” said Charles Offdensen. “Murderface, that’s a terrible idea.”

“Well, nobody ashked you, Charlesh!” Murderface pouted.

“Yeah!” Nathan said, looking over to the spectral form of Charles Offdensen. “…Charles? Were you, uh, drinking paint too?”

“No, Nathan, I’m not actually here,” Charles stepped back from the band and examined the surroundings, the other demons present. “Hm. Just as I thought. Tell me, boys, do you remember anything unusual about your stay in Minsk?”

“Uhh…” Nathan’s brow furrowed as he recalled. “Hookers. Blow. Booze. A performing bear and some Roma roadies got into a fight with the Klokateers… nothing too weird. Oh yeah! We got bit by a five-headed snake.”

“Do you recall where the snake came from? Was it delivered by room service?”

“What’s going on, Charles?” Pickles asked, crossing his arms. “What d’you mean you ain’t here?”

Charles nodded and straightened his tie. “I’m with your bodies, they’re being cared for in Mordhospital. You see–”

“Ah! See?” Nathan said. “We ain’t in Hell! We _are_ just super high!”

“Well, no. You are, in fact, in Hell,” said Charles. “I called in some Belarusian mystics to create a soul channel. That’s how I’m here.”

All heads turned to Nathan, who’s eyes closed slowly. “F*riff*.”

“Waits…” said Skwisgaar, eyes widening. “If we’s in Hells, that means we-we…”

“We’s hamboirgah-timed!” Toki cried, his pointed ear laying flat against his head.

“We can’t be hamburger-timed! I shtill haven’t pished on every nashional monument!”

“Oh f*riff*! Oh f*riff*! f*riff*!” Pickles said, his gorgon hair writhing in panic. “We finally did it! We finally went to Hell! And it _f*riff*ing **sucks**_!”

Charles clapped his hands and cleared his throat. “Now now. Calm down, boys. You’re not dea-er, you’re not hamburger-timed. Near as anyone can tell you’re all in a coma, you are being given the best medical care money can buy. No, you’ve all been bitten by a Belarusian Five-Headed Pit Viper, its venom sent your souls to the astral plane.”

“Awshome!” Murderface said, grinning. “That’sh f*riff*ing brutal!”

“Except for you, Murderface,” Charles added. “You tripped and hit your head on the toilet.”

“C*riff*shucker!”

“Ha ha ha!” Nathan rumbled. “I told you not to piss on the floors, you f*riff*ing moron!”

“I’m a man of prinshible!” Murderface grumbled. “Live by the pish, die by the pish…”

Charles cleared his throat, getting their attention. “Yes, well, if we can get back to the matter at hand; no, you are not hamburger-timed, but you are in Hell. There are rules we must observe here. The Belarusian Pit Viper induces a spirit-state wherein the banished souls must experience a revelation or some manner of self-actualization before they can return to their bodies.”

“Oh, it’s gonna be one’a _those_ ,” Pickles groused, crossing his arms.

“We’ve opened a channel on this end, but it’s up to you to free yourself of Hell’s grasp,” Charles gestured at all of them. “You must each admit to and atone for your sins. Once that happens, you’ll be pulled back into your bodies. This is all I can do for you, for now. I’ll try to get back to you later, so in the mean time just try and stick together so I can find you. Remember, you can only return when you’ve redeemed yourselves so, uh, get on that. Time is a factor here.”

Charles faded and Dethklok stood in a circle. Nathan grimaced and sighed, turning to Charlie, who was very obviously eavesdropping. “So, uh, how do we do redemption?”

Charlie pirouetted and struck a pose, the air around her sparkling with sheer nauseating positivity. “Puppies! Crafts! And showtuuuuuunes~”

Nathan inhaled deeply through his nose, lips fleering back from his fangs in a snarl. “[NOOOOOOOO!!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zfbK_dbsCu0)”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually astonished at how well these franchises mesh.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANOTHER ONE

Chapter 3  
  
On the far outskirts of the infernal city the ash swirled and dust crept in cautious, halting sheets. Glowing cinders danced like fireflies in oblivion. Black and grey and orange whorled and gyred as the wind surged, pulsed, a reedy shriek sounding over the dry rustle of ash and embers. A scar of red light split the air, the sounds of screams and moans issued from the tear in reality as the wind intensified to a feverish thrash, detritus swirled about in a maelstrom, coalescing into a dreadful, dark figure. His skin cracked and volcanic, red energy surging from within, his eyes two baleful pits of scarlet light. The wind died down as his body smoothed over, cracks filling in, his skin now smooth and hard and grey as defiled marble, hairless save for the ashen hair fashioned into an immaculate mid-length beard. The tear closed and he stood alone in the desolation, his hateful gaze cast over towards the glowing city on the horizon. A flash of hellfire wreathed his body, snuffed as soon as it flared, leaving behind a sensible well-fitted three-piece suit.

“The Upstart is making his move. This has been a long time coming.” Grand Duke Sallos straightened his blood-red tie. “Brace yourself, Pentagram City. All will cow before my might, and the natural order will be restored. Summon your champions, they will not avail you. All who stand in my way are naught but ash and smoke.”

* * *

  
“Urrrgh…” Nathan growled, looking at himself in the large, framed stand-mirror. “This is such bullsh*riff*. I’m… _cute_.”

“You’re adorable!” Charlie said, standing next to him.

Nathan grunted and a torrent of blood poured from his mouth.

“Oh my!” Charlie’s hand shot to her mouth. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, that happens,” said Nathan, smacking his lips. “Just don’t call me, uh, that.”

“Adorable?”

Yet another surge of blood issued from Nathan’s mouth. “Blarrrrgh–yes, that.”

“Sho, Vaggie,” Murderface said, crossing his legs in a slow, deliberate manner. “Pleash, tell me about yourshelf.”

Vaggie’s eye rolled and she sighed. “What do you want to know?”

“Oh, you know, jusht you,” said Murderface, unsubtly scooching closer to her. “Your hobbiesh, your intereshts… your dreamsh.”

“Yeah, okay.” Vaggie shot to her feet and walked away. “Charlie, you’re on your own.”

“Bye, Vaggie!” Charlie waved goodbye and turned to the rest of the attendants. “Hello everyone! As you can see, we have some new friends joining us today, so let’s introduce ourselves! Angel, why don’t you start?”

“Uh, yeah, okay.” A tall effeminate spider demon stood up, looking as bored as inhumanly possible. “Hey. I’m Angel Dust.”

“Hello, Angel Dust,” the group recited.

“Uh, yeah. So, I’m Hell’s most famous pornstar cum (heh) gangster. I’m here because I like drugs, dick, and makin’ dipshits dead!”

“Uh, questions?” Skwisgaar raised his hand. “You ams a… mans spiders?”

Angel rolled his mismatched eyes and nodded. “Yeah, I’m a guy. Ya gotta problem wit’ that?”

“Nos, nos,” Skwisgaar said, disconcerted. “Justs, uh, internals conflicts.”

“Great! Moving down the line!” Charlie said, gesturing at the dog-demon sitting next to Angel in the circle, her arms crossed and a pugnacious scowl on her face. “Crymini?”

The dog demon stood up with a huff. “Whatever. You heard her, that’s my name. I did crimes and stuff. Next!”

Eyes flicked over to a small, twitchy demonic anglerfish, who regarded the lot of them with something between horror and disgust. “My name is Baxter, I am a scientist, I am a visionary, and I am presently… damned. For what, you may ask? For pursuing my vision? For enabling future generations of mankind?! For seeking to pull humanity from the dark ages of ignorance and superstition and usher in a new era of scientific–”

“He sank the Titanic,” said Angel. “Like, straight-up sank th’bitch.”

“Wow-wees!”

“Whoa!”

“Brutals.”

“Schweet!” Murderface exclaimed. “Now, I love deshecrating hishtory, but _creating_ hishtorical tragedies? Thatsh f*riff*ing metal!”

Nathan produced a recorder and pressed the button with a muted click. “Song idea: metal cover of _My Heart Will Go On_ , by Celine Dion. *click* Also, make metal cover album… *click* _Ironic_ metal cover album… title, title, uhhhhh…”

“Deth By Irony?” Angel offered.

“Yes! Thank you!” Nathan said, pointing at Angel. “This lady-boi spider gets it!”

Angel looked rather pleased with himself. “I prefer ‘Trap (Door) Spider’.”

“Making friends! I like it!” Charlie turned to the next person in the circle, Pickles. “Would you like to introduce yourself?”

Pickles stood up, an exasperated look on his face. “Alright, let’s get this bullsh*riff* outta the way. *Ahem!* My name is Pickles, the Drummer. I’m the drummer for the band Dethklok, and I’m an alcoholic, drug-using, one-fifth-of-a-god. Oh! And I hate my mom, my dad, and my f*riff*ing brother, who’s responsible for my substance abuse. There! Done! Redeemed!”

Pickles stood in the middle of the circle, eyes closed as he spread his arms wide, awaiting his reward.

Nothing happened.

“Motherf*riff*er.”

“What are ya doin’?” Angel said, a bemused smile on his face.

“Last time I was in rehab they lemme out after I admitted that sh*riff*,” grumbled Pickles as he sat back down.

“Good effort, Pickles. That kind of openness will make this process a lot easier.” Charlie turned to the golden-haired elf absently strumming on a black Gibson Explorer. “Next?”

“Uh, I ams Skwisgaar Skwigelf. I ams leads guitarist fors Dethklok and ams most promiskskuous mans on Earth.”

“Oh, only on Earth?” Angel interjected, smirking and examining his nails. “That’s cute.”

Skwisgaar paused his playing and glared at Angel. “Excuses you?”

“Nah, nah, it’s pretty alright, y’know… for a beginner.” Angel’s smile widened.

“Uh, Skwisgaar, take ‘er easy, pal,” Pickles began to say.

“No, Pickle, the spiders has somethings to say,” said Skwisgaar, his stare icy and focused. “Please. Whys nots you shares with clasksroom?”

Angel uttered a short laugh, like a venerated elder being called out by a snot-nosed child. “Hey, most ‘promiskskuous guy on Earth' is a good start, don’t get me wrong. But ya can’t come down here and think that’ll impress. Work at it for, say, seventy years and then maybe I’d notice.”

“Seventies years?” Skwisgaar scoffed. “It’s nots a marathons if you’s walking, grandpas.”

Angel’s eyes snapped wide, his teeth bared. “Grandpa?!”

“Don’ts breaks your hip.”

“Look here, y’little shit!” Angel hissed, shooting to his feet. “I pull in more dicks a day than alla New York Pride!”

“Bigs deals, yous a pornstars, you gets paids to be promiskskuous. Likes braggings about gettings frees candies when yous works in candies factory.” Skwisgaar made a point of resuming his guitar strumming, a condescending smile on his face. “I’ms multi-trillionsaire. Monies is nothing sos I’s does it for frees, like humanitarigans. Yous does it fors monies, likes regular jackoffs. Boring!”

Angel’s cheeks burned bright pink, a furious sneer twisting his face. “That’s it! Me’n’you! Whore-off! Right now!”

“Brings it, arnackskids!!” Skwisgaar said, getting in Angel’s face.

“This argument is stupid,” Nathan growled, grabbing the both of them by the scruff and physically separating them. “Skwisgaar, we’re here to get redeemed or whatever. Getting into a f*riff*pile with a gay spider isn’t helping.”

“F*riff* that! Legolas over there _wishes_ he was my type!” Angel sneered before adopting a coquettish moue, tracing a dainty finger under Nathan’s lantern jaw. “But ya know there ain’t nothin’ I won’t do for a bear.”

“Urrrgh.” Nathan snarled and dropped Angel back in his chair. “I feel… conflicted.”

“I knows, right?” Skwisgaar muttered.

“Well!” Charlie barked more than said, clapping her hands. “Great! We all know each other! How about we get to some constructive activities?”

* * *

  
The group stood in an amphitheater, elaborately appointed and done up in a piercing red-black color scheme. Nathan nodded approvingly at the elaborately worked ebony backrests of the blood-red upholstered seats, festoon with carved skulls and eyes. Suitably metal.

“Alright everyone! Today we’re going to get to know each other through our more positive hobbies and pass-times! Dethklok, why don’t you start?”

“Okay,” Nathan said, a little confused. “Hobbies, hobbies, hobbies… does hookers and icecream count as a hobby?”

Charlie’s smile faltered. “Uuuh…”

“What about fillin’ swimmin’ pools with hundred dollar bills and swimmin’ in it with hookers? Pickles offered.

“Well–”

“Collapshing the worldsh economy for shitsh and gigglesh?”

“No, that’s–”

“Puppies and proskitoots?” Toki said.

“The puppies I can–”

Skwisgaar broke in. “Proskitoots, hookers, exckorts, ands calls-girls?”

Angel cackled and clapped his hands. “Charlie, these guys are awesome!”

“Those are the same thing!” Charlie exclaimed. “And no! No sex-workers!”

“Pff. Spoils-sports…” Skwisgaar grumbled.

“Tell me about it,” said Angel.

“Bup!” Charlie made an ‘X’ with her arms. “Constructive hobbies only! Now, Dethklok, I heard you were a band on earth? How about you play us a song? (Seeing as how you guys know _sooooo_ much about music…)”

“Finally,” Nathan said, holding out his hand as a crimson lightning bolt stuck his palm, a microphone appearing in his grasp. “Huh? Okay. Whatever.”

The rest of Dethklok did the same, their instruments materializing in their hands in a flash of Doomstar energy.

“Man, this saves SO much set-up time!” Pickles said from behind his drums.

“Alright, any requests?” Nathan said.

Charlie smiled and clapped. “Something positive!”

“Positive?” Nathan smirked maliciously. “I got one. It’s about… **_mermaids_**.”

The lights died with a loud ‘thunk’. Red spotlights shone from hovering spheres of energy. Charlie’s smile dropped as a gantry of bone and sinew materialized above them, strewn with the rotting carcasses of mermaids as smoke and fog billowed from nowhere. A keening cry sounded, thrumming like demonic whalesong, the drums thudded and guitars roared. The eerie, phantasmal forms of vicious, murderous mermaids swam through the air, swooping through clouds of smog, talons flexing and teeth gnashing. One lunged for Charlie, hissing like a tea kettle, only to be swarmed by the others at the last second and torn apart. The shocked audience flinched as a great spurt of hot arterial blood spattered over them. Baxter squealed in horror and disgust and fled the room.

“Heh.” Crymini licked the blood on her face with her long canine tongue and smirked. “Brutal.”

[ “ ** _There are no fingerprints deep under water._** ”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R3_MhrAVQTA)

[three minutes and twenty-eight seconds later]

As the song tapered off, so too did the constructs fade. The corpse gantry receded back into the floor, the glowing orbs faded away as the fog dispersed. The gruesome remains of the eviscerated mermaids floated mid air, evaporating into reddish steam. Charlie and the rest of the group stood in stunned silence, their eyes wide, faces blanched and shocked.

“Oh, my…” Crymini muttered before leaping into the air, a huge ecstatic smile on her face. “GAWD! That was F*RIFF*ING AWESOME!”

“My f*riff*ing suit!” Angel cried, blood and viscera coating his clothes. “Do you chucklef*riff*s have any idea how long it takes to get blood outta white satin?!”

“Between two and three hours,” Nathan replied without missing a beat. “Maybe longer if you let it sit.”

Pickles nodded and pointed at the enraged spider. “Blot what you can outta the material and then soak it in a solution of four tablespoons a’ salt in a gallon of cold water. Let ‘er sit for, ehhh, an hour or so, then use a bleach-free detergent and hand wash it and let it air dry.”

“Repeats as necesscaries,” Skwisgaar added. “Shouldn’ts takes mores than fives hours, tops.”

Angel blinked and looked down at his ensemble. “Uhhh… thanks.”

“Nots our first rodeos,” Toki said, smiling. “Works for silks too!”

“And cum stains?” Angel said, peeling off his top as he head for the laundry room.

“I don’t see why not,” Pickles said, grinning at Charlie. “So, Charlie. How was that for positive?”

“That was…” Charlie brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes, her expression distant and flat before morphing into a rictus of excitement and glee. “…AMAZING! There was just so much energy and passion! Such power! And the story, so SO good! Brutal, visceral, but it underlines the futile and cyclic nature of revenge!"

Nathan blinked in surprise as Dethklok exchanged looks. “You, uh, you liked it?”

“I loved it!” Charlie cheered, wiping blood off her face. “You all clearly have so much to say, all of you contribute so much! Nathan, you lend such brooding, contemplative substance to the vocals and overall sound. Let me guess, you write the lyrics, too, don’t you?”

“Well, uh, I co-author with Pickles here,” Nathan said, uncharacteristically flustered, a ghost of smile on his face.

Charlie leapt up onto the stage and set a hand on Pickles’ arm. “Of course! Pickles, as the drummer you’re the nerve center of the band, the backbone! Without your constancy and reliability, both in rhythm and in general, the whole thing would fall apart. You hold the sound together and ensure the meaning of the music shines through!”

“Well, if you’re just gonna say it…” Pickles said, nonplussed at hearing it all said out loud.

Charlie turned to the guitarists, who were awkwardly tuning their instruments. “And Skwisgaar, Toki. I saw you two up there, dueling, sparring; you both keep each other in check and balance, each goading the other to do better, to strive for more. Your energy and synchronicity with one another always keeps the energy at a fever pitch! If either one was missing, something vital would be lost. Toki, your positivity keeps the band from sinking into a mire of despair, and Skwisgaar, your cynicism and drive keeps the band from becoming complacent.”

“Well, I does my bests to, you knows, bes the best,” Skwisgaar said, smirking.

“Mes too!” Toki cheered. “I’s always ams tryings!”

“Stop copies me,” Skwisgaar muttered. “I’ms doings, yous tryings.”

“No, yous copies me! I’ms doings the happy and yous trying to brings me downs! But you fails likes always!”

“You ams always beings of happies woulds leads to complaskencies. Charlies saids so, therefores, you knows, ams right.”

“I hates you Skwisgaar!”

“I hates you toos, but mores than you, likes in everythings.”

Charlie moved on from the bickering guitarists to the hideous, scowling bassist standing with his arms crossed. “And Murderface…”

“Oh, here we go…” Muderface grumbled, preparing for the usual dismissive platitudes.

“I think you’re the most important one of all.”

He blinked and looked up at Charlie, so surprised that he couldn’t even resent the fact that she was taller than him. “What? Sherioushly?”

“Yes!” Charlie set a hand on his shoulder. “All of them together would just be sound and rhythm. Noise! You do more than provide the bass, you give the sound an edgy, ambitious element. Your needs and wants and desires, your dissatisfaction and stubbornness, this all bleeds into the noise and makes into music, true music! You provide emotional content, William. You… you’re the heart.”

Murderface went beet-red, his eyes huge and liquid, his thin, wormy lips quivering. “O-oh my god… thsank you…”

“You, uh, cryin’ over there, Murderface?” Pickles snickered.

“N-no! Shaddup!” Murderface wiped his forearm across his face and sniffled. “I-I jusht gotsh shome g-glash in my eyesh!”

Charlie walked into the center stage and clasped her hands together. “Well, that was amazing! Really! All of you, you’re just so dedicated and talented, redeeming you won’t take a thing! So, are you all ready to knuckle down and become better people?”

Dethklok stood in silence, each shocked at the shining beacon of positivity before them. Maybe they could be better? Maybe they could be metal _and_ good?

Nathan spoke up, the rest of the band forming up behind him. “That’s doable.”

A slow, evenly-space clapping reverberated from the back of the amphitheater, all heads turned to see a tall, shadowy figure strolling down the main walkway in slow, deliberate strides. His eyes glowed red-within-red, a ruby monocle perched upon a cheek buoyed by an ever-present grin showing a jaundiced crescent of shark-like teeth. The dapper gentleman glided into the light of the stage, his taloned hands making a dry, unnatural sound as they connected.

“Ah, good,” Alastor crooned, his voice a gleeful thicket of static and malice. “That’s _just_ what I wanted to hear…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awwww... poor Murderface, getting glass in his eye like that. Pretty embarrassing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHA I'M STILL DOING THIS

Chapter 4  
  
Katie Killjoy sat in her make-up room, surrounded by supplicating servants applying makeup and offering plates of sweets.

“Look, I don’t care how you get the footage, just get it!” Katie snarled at the phone on the counter, cucumber slices on her eyes, her face salved in a mud-mask. “I promised a bloodbath, and you’ll goddamned deliver a bloodbath! We need to get at least fifty million views over the last quarter if we’re going to land the Daemo-Cola sponsorship!”

“But Ms. Killjoy,” The voice on the line cried. “We can’t film a gang war if there is no gang war!”

“Then. Make. One.” Katie’s fist pulverized the phone, cratering the countertop.

A low, rumbling voice sounded from elsewhere. “Surrounded by idiots?”

“Oh, don’t even get me started–” Katie paused, lifting one of the cucumber slices, her eye glowing with fury. “Who… dares intrude on my dressing room?!”

Standing in the corner of the room surrounded by the charred, glowing skeletons of her toadies was an enormous bearded man. His skin grey and dead, the color of volcanic ash, eyes glowing pits of red-within-orange, two flaming eyebrows canted upward above them in amusement. “Hello Katie. Grifting for views as always, hmm?”

“Sally?” Katie said, a shark-smile spreading across her harridan features with an audible creak as she slowly stood up.

“Katie-Kat!” Sallos said, plucking a chocolate from a platter held by the smoldering remains of a peon, causing them to disintegrate. “Long time, no see.”

“Oh, Sally! It’s so good to see you! Kisses!” Katie rushed across the room and exchanged air-kisses with the towering archdevil. “Oh, but you should have given me some heads up! You’ve caught me in the middle of putting myself together!”

“Moisturizing the ol’ handbag won’t make it a Chanel, darling,” Sallos chuckled.

“You sassy bitch!” Katie cackled and vaporized the mud mask off her skin with a flash of energy. “But please, tell me what brings you to the ol’ stye? Got some juicy business in the neighborhood?”

Sallos allowed her to take his arm as they walked out of the dressing-room. “You know it, Katie. See, the inner circle and I have found Lucy’s tolerance of certain elements within this city to be, let’s say ‘questionable’. I hoped that our local reps would be able to handle the Upstart, but sadly this has not been the case.”

“The Upstart?” Katie said, her voice hushed. “You mean the Radio Demon?”

“Precisely.” Sallos nodded, stroking his beard. “That mortal has thrown mud in the eyes of Hell’s hierarchy. Killing our lieutenants, taking our territory, all that is well and good enough, fair game. But, the aristocracy has taken some umbrage with his tendency towards theatrics. Some fear it may spark an uprising.”

“I see…” Katie said, eyebrow canted in curiosity. “And you’re here because…?”

Sallos chuckled and pointed at her. “You wanted some red meat, didn’t you?”

“Bloody.” A ghastly smile spread across her face, her white teeth cut and sharp like marble tiles.

“Sink your teeth into this, then,” Sallos leaned in and whispered in her ear. “The Upstart has called in some outside talent. Expect a BIG turnout with a deep bodycount. If cameras were in the right place at the right time, say, tomorrow afternoon at the Princess’s little project, they could pull in some serious views.”

Sallos stepped away and straightened his tie, shooting her a wink before disappearing into a pillar of vermillion fire. Katie ignored the ugly scorch marks on the floor, the tongues of flame crawling up the wall, and pulled out her spare phone. “Rachel, I got a scoop, a big one. Assemble a full coverage team, pull them from other studios if you have to. …And get me another dressing-room team.”  
  


* * *

  
Charlie sat in the front row of the amphitheater with the assembled hotel crew and Alastor, a huge grin on her face. “Alright boys, you ready?”

“I thought we already did our talent thing?” Pickles muttered, standing in front of a shrouded easel on stage, looking unsure.

“That was together,” Charlie said, clicking her pen. “Now you’re all going to show us and each other what makes each of you special, okay?”

“I guess…” Pickles cleared his throat and pulled the cloth from the easel, revealing a portrait of a posing woman wreathed in a snake made of fire. “So I used our glowy bullsh*riff* powers to make a machine that’d turn my drum beats into an image. It’s something Dick and I have been meaning to try for a while now and I think the results speak for themselves.”

A round of applause sounded, with only Charlie and Toki sounding actually enthusiastic.

“Wow-wee Pickle, that ams a metal portraits!”

Skwisgaar examined the painting, tapping his chin. “Upons further inspackshuns, why does the ladies has your moms face?”

“And the firesnake looks…” Nathan pointed to the snake, on its face was a goatee and an utterly insufferable smirk. “…Familiar.”

“Dunnowhatyertalkin’aboutmovin’on,” Pickles mumbled, storming off stage and sitting on a bench, arms crossed. “NEXT!”

Next was Toki, who summoned a vast menagerie of demonic baby animals as well as a large assortment of circus equipment, leading them through an array of tricks. Charlie squealed in delight and clapped her hands, feverishly taking notes while the rest could not look less interested. Angel took note of a small demonic piglet dressed as a ringmaster, jotting down that he needed to get a similar ensemble for Nuggets.

“Very good, Toki! Very cute!” Charlie gave a one-person standing ovation while Husk capped his second bottle of Kentucky bourbon. “Next is Skwisgaar.”

Skwisgaar took the stage, elbowing Toki out of his way. “Alright, this ams going to be some actual talents, not stupids hell magiks. I picks this ones up in Japan, is good for, like, finger-smarts and hand chordinakshuns. Keeps me froms flubbing riffs ands squashing notes… Tokis…”

Toki’s ears laid flat, his golden eyes narrowed as he whispered: “I hates you, Skwisgaar…”

“Okay.”

The tall elf produced a sheet of paper and, in a series of movements too fast to see, folded it into a crane. The crane glowed with red energy and took to the air. This elicited a surprised grunt from the otherwise apathetic audience. Skwisgaar held up a piece of paper in each hand and, just as quickly, created an eagle and a dog from the sheets. This garnered an array of impressed sounds from the now more attentive hotel staff and patients.

“Cans gives pointers on fingers games if anyone interesteds,” said Skwisgaar, holding the pile of paper out in front of him and making it rain folded-paper animals.

Vaggie furiously took notes, glancing over at Charlie, who was enraptured by the flock of paper cranes flying about her.

“Next is me! I’m next!” Nathan growled, taking the stage with a book and pair of pince-nez glasses. “This went over really well the last time I tried it, so I guess I’m good at it or whatever. AHEM! [Uhmm, so this is called Comedy of Errors…](https://youtu.be/VR30T4hslT0?t=30)"

  
As Nathan entered his long, rambling, rumbling commentary of the reviled Shakespeare work the audience’s eyes glazed over.

“Christ, it’s like a cement-mixer learned to talk!” Husk groused, clapping his hands over his ears.

“Hush,” Charlie said out the side of her mouth before craning her head back to glance at Alastor. “So, what are you up to?”

Alastor’s smile widened, a jaundiced crescent of razor teeth. “Why, whatever do you mean?”

“There’s something weird about these guys. All five turning up here at once, their powers, and now you just so happen to show up too? Yeah, I’m not buying it.”

“Stop copies me, Skwisgaar!” Toki cried, wreathed in a writhing red aura, his animal constructs floating about him, their eyes glowing pits of crimson. “I makes the animals and makes ‘em flies around foist!”

“I’s not copies you!” Skwisgaar retorted, his own paper animals taking to the air about their master, growing claws and fangs. “Ams just doing whats you does betters, like always!”

“F*riff* you!” Toki roared, his demonic thralls lunging forward.

Toki’s animals and Skwisgaar’s origami clashed mid-air, tearing each other to bloody pieces in all-out war. Toki and Skwisgaar floated mid-air, crimson auras spiking and undulating as they slapped one another, pulling hair and bickering.

“I’m quite sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Alastor, chuckling.

A quartet of paper tigers pulled a demonic bunny apart in four ways, sending spray of viscera splattering down on the audience. Angel adroitly produced a frilly umbrella and pulled in under it as the rest of the audience was coated.

Crymini cackled and cheered, flicking piece of intestine at a frozen, horrified Baxter. “Kick-ass!”

“Splash-zone,” Nathan chuckled into the mic. “Brutal.”

Charlie sighed and swatted a liver off her lap as Alastor beamed at her, flickering in a burst of static, his suit restored to pristine condition. “Toki! Skwisgaar! Please remain seated while Nathan is reciting.”

Toki and Skwisgaar exchanged looks and broke apart, levitating down to the floor to sulk on opposite ends of a bench as Nathan continued to ramble incoherently into the mic.

At one point Nathan was just flapping his lips and doing vocal practices into the mic, waving the playbook about. Charlie shot to her feet and laughed sharply, clapping perhaps a little too vigorously. “Hahahaha! Nathan Explosion, everyone! Good! Very good! Please come sit down now.”

“But I haven’t even gotten to–”

“Sit!” She chirped.

“Whatever.” Nathan plopped down next to Pickles on the bench. “I liked your picture.”

“Thank you, Nathan,” said Pickles. “A metal opera covering the works a’ Shakespeare would go over great with the thespian market.”

“Really? I didn’t think Vaggie looked that into it.”

“ _Thespian_ , Nathan.”

“Last but not least,” Charlie announced, almost sounding relieved. “Murderface! William, would you take the stage, please?”

Murderface stood off to the side, his arms crossed tightly as he scowled. “Thish ish shtupid! Why would I wanna get up there and impresh any a’ these douchebagsh?”

“William, it’s just to help us all learn more about you.” Charlie gestured at the stage, her eyes wide and pleading. “Please?”

Murderface scowled and stomped into the spotlight, beady little eyes darting around. “I… I don’t know what to do…”

“Just anything that comes to mind,” Charlie said, offering a gentle smile. “Anything that you think makes you special.”

Murderface thought on this for a moment before a grin spread across his hideous mug. “Oh! I know! Hey, Vaggie, check thish out!”

He held out his hand and a Gibson Thunderbird materialized out of a flash of crimson energy. He donned the shoulder strap and let the guitar hang low. To the surprise and horror of the audience, his shorts dropped to his ankles.

“Oh…” said Charlie, eyes wide and her tone flat. “My God.”

Baxter ran screaming from the amphitheater as Crymini clapped her hand over her eyes. “Why the f*riff* does it look like that?!”

“Meh,” grunted Angel, casually examining his nails. “I’ve sucked worse.”

[Murderface's pale, hairy buttocks clenched and, revoltingly, the bass began to play.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1AuKY-ddDV4)

Alastor cocked his head and chuckled. “Oh my.”

As the strumming increased in tempo Crymini peered through her fingers. “…Whoa.”

The crescendo peaked and Murderface moved onto an impressive string of notes, increasing tempo and complexity as he did. A huge, delighted grin spread across Angel’s face. Next to him, Vaggie looked as though she’d just found a snake in her underwear drawer.

“I’m disgusted, and sickened…” Vaggie muttered, her voice low and hoarse. “And I can’t look away! How the hell his he doing that?!”

Murderface threw up the horns with both hands and spun his bass before catching it and finishing off the solo with a flourish. He stood before the stunned audience, beaming as sweat ran down his brick-like Cro-Magnon brow.

Angel shot to his feet, clapping and whistling wildly. “Wooooo! Yeah! Encore! Encore! Ya f*riff*in’ pud-playin’ maniac!”

“That’sh nothing! You should shee me play the bongosh with my nutshack! Allow me to demonshtrate. Ladiesh, I need a hairpin!”

Crymini, wracked with morbid curiosity, started forward with a hairpin in hand, only for Charlie to snatch it away, barking a shrill brittle laugh. “Hahaha! No! … ** _N_ _o_ _!_** Uh… just one performance per person. Thank you, William, that was very, er, well… yeah… Now please, for the love of God, put your pants back on.”

“Boo!” Angel cried.

Murderface pulled his shorts back up and skulked off the stage, joining his bandmates on the nearby bench.

“Goods one Moidaface,” Skwisgaar chuckled. “Really broughts the house downs.”

“That spiders-guy seems to likes it,” Toki said, pointing at the simpering effeminate spider-demon holding a sign reading ‘band discount’. Angel noticed their attention and shot them a wink.

“I feel…” Murderface grimaced. “Conflicted.”

“I know, right?” Nathan said, rubbing his forehead.

“Angel has that effect on people,” said Alastor, suddenly sitting right next to Nathan. “But never mind him! I have to say, those were some A-1 performances! Really knocked ‘em dead out there! Stupefying!”

“Uh,” Nathan grumbled, side-eying the grinning deer demon. “Thank you, Red Deer Guy.”

“The name’s Alastor, Miss Magne’s buisness partner in this particular endeavor! Pleased to meet you! Say, I overheard you were all in a band, is that correct?”

“We’re–”

“Great! See, ‘round these here parts I’m known as The Radio Demon. Suffice it to say, I specialize in airwaves and all forms of chicanery therein.”

“…Is that so,” Nathan sighed, very pointedly not framing it like a question.

“And, you see, in the interests of advertising this hotel to the denizens of Hell, I will be hosting a promotional radio show, with call-in requests, prizes, executions, all the usual tricks! Now, forward as this may be, might I suggest that you boys could put together an act for the hotel’s benefit?”

Alastor grinned at Nathan, an expectant arch in his eyebrow. Nathan scowled straight ahead, not deigning to even look at the mugging demon.

“Imagine all the _good_ you could do,” crooned Alastor.

“Rwwr,” Nathan replied.

“All the souls that otherwise wouldn’t be saved, seeking salvation because of you,” he continued.

“Hrrg,” Nathan conceded.

“And it would help Charlie out _so_ much.” He looked around at the other bandmates. “You all want to help Charlie, don’t you?”

“Grrr…”

“I’ll help Charlie!” Murderface shouted, shooting to his feet. “Nathan, thish guy’sh right! We gotta!”

“We’s gots to!” Toki agreed, his puppy-dog tail wagging feverishly. “Charlies needs our helps we’s gotta helps her!”

Skwisgaar strummed on his Gibson Explorer. “Whatevers.”

“It _would_ get us outta here quicker, Nathan,” said Pickles, ever-cautious about broaching this particular subject to Nathan.

“Just think of her happy smiling fa–” Alastor began to say before Nathan split the air with a roar.

“GAAAAAAAARG FINE!” He bellowed, the massive bear demon shot to his feet. “Dethklok will do a… urgh… Live Charity Event for the Happy Hotel!”

“Really?” Charlie said from the bleachers. “You will? Oh, Nathan! That’s so sweet of you!”

“Blurg!” Nathan coughed up a small amount of blood and spun around to Alastor, towering over him as he jabbed a paw at the sneering radio host. “But it ain’t gonna be a radio show! That ain’t metal! If Dethklok is going to put on a charity, it’ll be the blackest, most brutal charity event ever!”

Alastor’s smile widened somehow, now a rictus of yellow shark-teeth. “I expect nothing less.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will end well, I'm sure


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Dethklok stood in a semi-circle in the lobby, Pickles and Nathan poring over a phone.

“See any names you recognize?” Nathan said.

“No.” Pickles shook his head, his numerous snake-heads reading different columns. “Rotor, Perdition, Neeto, Qarma… alla these are like sh*riff*y stage-names for hair metal bands!”

“What are you idiots up to?” Husk growled from behind the desk. “Escort services are in the business section.”

“Thank yous,” Skwisgaar said, reaching for the phonebook.

Pickles pulled the book away and frowned at Skwisgaar. “No. We’re lookin’ for the names of any of our dead contacts down here. See if they can help us get this show rollin’. But everyone down here’s got these dumbass MadLibs names!”

“Wait…” Husk did a double take. “Those ain’t your Hell-names? You’re Earth-name is Pickles? Your name is Nathan Fuckin’ _Explosion_?!”

“This is going nowhere fast,” Nathan grumbled, snatching the book from Pickles’ hands and tossing it behind the front desk, Husk ducked the book and cursed. “But I got an idea.”

“Boys!”

Dethklok turned to see Charlie stroll into the lobby, followed closely by her two weird goat-things and Vaggie, in their arms were stacks of paper.

“Nathan, Pickles!” Charlie said, her voice high and melodic with enthusiasm. “I’m here to help! Here, look!”

She handed Nathan one of the sheets, it was resplendent with colorful twee clipart of puppies, rainbows and mermaids. It read: _Happy Hotel Redemption Convention! Live Charity Event Feat. DETHKLOK!_ ‘Dethklok’ was written in bubbly, technicolor text, under it read: _Admission 5$, food and drink tokens available for purchase at front desk_.

Nathan scowled at the flyer, the sides of his mouth twitching and quivering, baring his teeth as his black lips pulled back. The rest of Dethklok flinched back in surprise as a low, rumbling coughing sound emanated from deep within the giant bear-demon: laughter. Nathan threw his head back and outright guffawed, clapping a taloned paw to his face.

“Flyers! P-Pickles, look!” Nathan managed to say between chuckles. “Flyers for Dethklok! W-with the little rainbows and puppies!”

“Is something wrong?” Charlie ventured, confused at the outburst from the normally stoic Nathan.

“N-no,” said Pickles, snickering and handing her back the flyer. “They’re, uh, great and all, just, uh, not our style.”

“Oh…” she said, looking at the piles of paper in their arms.

“Besides,” said Nathan, wiping a tear from his eyes. “I got an idea.”

They stood outside the Hotel in the parking lot. Vaggie looked around at the empty lot, her arms crossed. “So, what are we doing out here?”

“Hold on a second,” Nathan mumbled, rummaging around in his pockets. “F*riff*ing come on, I know it’s here somewhere…”

“What’s up, Nathan?” Pickles said, himself curious as to what his bandmate was up to.

“Remember a few years ago, when the Dethklok brand communicators got lost in the mail but we still had that show in Seoul?”

Pickle’s eyes lit up, he snapped his fingers. “Oh yeah! Nathan, that’s brilliant!”

“What are you–?” Charlie began to say when Nathan produced a small dog-whistle from his pants pocket.

“Here it is!” Nathan said, holding the whistle to his lips. “Here goes.”

He blew into the whistle, producing a nigh-inaudible keening.

They waited.

And waited.

Nothing.

“Can someone please explain to me what the f*riff* is going on?!” Vaggie exclaimed, throwing her arms up.

“Here we go…” Nathan said as a distant rumbling bubbled up from the ground itself.

[From all around the rumbling grew, the sound of hoofbeats and engines, the whine of flying machines of all stripes filled the air, but all was underscored by the thundering beat of jackboots on pavement as hundreds of thousands of pairs sprinted for the hotel. Vaggie, Charlie, and the Goat Bois huddled together as an endless swarm of black-clad, hooded demons converged on the Happy Hotel, the air filled with helicopters, airships, and flying platforms as vehicles and hellbeasts pulled wagons overflowing with the grim, brutal denizens. A quintet of especially important-looking demons broke through to the head of the army, kneeling before Dethklok.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ZPa0n9HGJo)

“You have summoned us, My Lords?”

“Yeah, uh…” Nathan cocked his head, pausing for a moment. “…Olaff?”

“Yes, it is I, Sire,” Olaf stepped forward, touching his head to the pavement before rising to his feet. “Olaf Gierstadalf, chief sound technician and inquisitor primaris of tour Thot Patrol.”

“Ah, good ol’ Thot Patrol,” Pickles chuckled. “Yeah, well, is this all of you down here?”

“No, Sire. Just those within earshot.”

Nathan looked out around the hundred thousand or so Klokateers clotting the streets and filling the skies. “Rwrg… it’ll do for now, I guess.”

“If I may speak, My Lords,” said Olaf, bowing once more. “For what purpose have you summoned us? Are we to take this realm in your name?”

“Huh? No, no. See, this Hell f*riff*ing sucks and we wanna get out.” Nathan jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the assembled Hotel staff, Charlie beamed and waved enthusiastically. “Charlie says she can get us outta here, so we’re gonna put together a charity event for her hotel thing or whatever. We need to get a sound system together, catering, water, advertising, the whole deal. Think you can do that?”

“You have allied yourself with the Princess of Hell?” Olaf said, his voice a wondrous whisper. “It is the prophecy.”

“Whuh?”

“Thy wills be done, My Lords.” Olaf turned to face the assembled Klokateers and levitated into the air, tendrils of dark energy arcing out from him like black lightning, his voice deep and striking as a thunder-crack. “Brothers! Our Lieges have finally intruded upon the infernal realm, it is the day we have so long awaited! However, in their wisdom and brutality, they have found Hell… wanting. Hell is not **metal** enough for Dethklok! They wish to return to the Mortal Plane. As with all things, it is our sworn duty to aide them in any and all endeavors. To this end they have deigned to assist the Princess of Hell in her mission with a concert! Klokateers! Take to the streets! Take to the skies! Spread the word to every ear in Hell! Acquire what you can! Appropriate what is needed! Now is the time, brothers! For Dethklok!”

A titanic cheer rose from the army, shaking the windows and rattling teeth for miles around. “FOR DETHKLOK!”

“Dramatic bunch, aren’t they?” Charlie whispered to Vaggie.

“Pot meet kettle,” Vaggie replied, a wry smile on her face.

“Hey!”

Olaf set down on the ground and turned to face them. “Further instructions, My Lords?”

Charlie cleared her throat and Nathan looked over at her, seeing the flyers in her hands. “Uh… yeah, also, uh, put these up around the neighborhood while you’re at it.”

Olaf examined one of the fliers, his shock and disgust clear through his black hood. “…My Lords?”

“Did I stutter?” Nathan growled.

“No, Sire!” Olaf stood ramrod straight before bowing. “Thy wills be done.”

  
[A swarm of Klokateers descended upon the city, forming impromptu promotional parades and highjacking ad-space, braying the arrival of their lords. Demons and Damned of all stripe were inundated with commands to attend, all who resisted were beset by armed hooded thugs and beaten savagely, held down as multiple paper fliers were stapled into their screaming flesh. Those who weren’t already interested in the news of Dethklok’s arrival were impressed with these theatrics and set a date on their various devices. Stores were raided for supplies, all resistance was smashed and swept aside. The summons went out and ever more Soldiers of the Black Klock swarmed in from the five points of the city. The army surged, crushing all in their path in their relentless promotion of their masters.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZbuLjexUbcQ)

  
“Hey, this is comin’ together great!” Pickles exclaimed, examining the blueprints handed to him by a hooded engineer before willing the materials needed into existence in a flash of blinding energy. “It’s so much easier throwin’ these big events together when were can just *zap* and magic the sh*riff* up outta nowhere.”

“Yeah, it really doesh!” Murderface exclaimed, holding several rolls of paper. “Come and shee what Charlie hash planned for shome of the attractshuns. Thish whole thing hash made her really happy, it’sh great!”

Dethklok tolerated Murderface’s uncharacteristic enthusiasm, Pickles unfolded one of the papers, revealing a basic, fanciful rendition of some kind of dolphin-based ride, resplendent with glurgy rainbows, grinning cartoony creatures, and what seemed to be an entire saltshaker’s worth of glitter. Pickles fixed Murderface with a flat, withering stare from his dozens of snake-heads.

“Awshome, right?”

Pickles rolled the glittery sheet back up and handed it to the Klokateer. “Uh, Nathan, you wanna handle this? I got sh*riff* to do.”

“Right, right.” Nathan turned to face Murderface. “You gotta cut this sh*riff* out right now.”

Murderface blinked in surprise. “Whadaya mean?”

“This whole ‘Oh, Charlie’s so great, we gotta help her’ thing. You ain’t foolin’ no-one,” Nathan growled, poking Murderface in the chest. “We all know you’re just being Mr. Nice Guy to get into her pants, and that sh*riff* _ain’t **allowed**_.”

“What?!” Murderface exclaimed, outraged. “How could you think sho little of me, Nathan! W-with Charlie, I–Ugh! That you jusht automatically go there, it shaysh more about where your mind ish at, honestly. It’sh jusht… *sigh* really dishappointing. I exshpected better from you.”

Nathan bared his fangs and grabbed Murderface by the scruff of his vest, hauling him three feet off the ground until they were eye-to eye. “Listen, because I’m only going to say this once: no hitting on Charlie. We gotta stay focused on being ‘good’ or whatever if we’re gonna get outta this sh*riff*hole, and I will not have you torpedo this operation with your gross, pervy bullsh*riff*. Also, it’s just… _wrong_.”

“I know!” Murderface said, nodding fervently. “I _don’t_ wanna get in her pantsh! It’d be like–like… it’d be like f*riff*in’ shomeone’sh mom!”

“Gods forbids,” Skwisgaar sneered, his arms crossed.

“No, no, look…” Murderface took a deep breath and sighed. “I can’t exshplain it. It’sh like, I wanna shee her happy, and have her like me and think I’m cool but I don’t wanna shleep with her!”

Skwisgaar digested this information for a moment. “Yous amsn’t making sense, Moidaface.”

“Yeah, that’s stupid,” said Nathan.

“I know!” Murderface cried, dismayed.

“I gets it!” Toki said, nodding. “You wants her to be happies without wantin’ nothings in returns. Thinks abouts it: what would you do if you saws Charlie sads?”

Dethklok was quiet for a moment as they contemplated this strange, new feeling.

“I don’ts likes this new emoshkuns,” Skwisgaar said, perturbed.

“This Hell f*riff*ing sucks…” Nathan mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Whatever. Murderface, no hitting on Charlie.”

“Can I shtill make the movesh on Vaggie?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.”

  
Many miles away, from the balcony of a penthouse suite, Grand Duke Sallos watched the Upstart’s mercenaries assemble their army. A formidable force to be sure, their fanatic devotion to this strange pentaverate was thick in the air, electric like a storm. His keen, ember-orange eyes counted nearly two-hundred thousand, with ever-more spilling in from the surrounding city. They had dispersed for a brief spell of pillaging, but were now set about building the massive, elaborate bulwarks of a great black fortress of some kind. For a moment he allowed himself to be concerned: who were these demons to secretly command such a vast army?

The moment passed. It mattered not who they were, for he was Sallos, Grand Duke of all Hell, One of the Fallen, Commander of Thirty Elite Daemonic Legions. Let the teeming rabble out there stand in his way and be trodden like so much grass underfoot. Then, it would be just him and the Upstart. He toyed with the idea of keeping his head alive and agonized, to dissuade any future ambitious peasants from trying their luck against the aristocracy. Or perhaps he would just make a framed pendant of the lad’s yellowed smile and wear it about his neck? Ah, these were things for later.

For now, he would wait.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter'll be the finale, so GET HYPE!
> 
> In the meantime, enjoy some stage-setting, both figurative and literal!

  
Chapter 6  
  
“Wow!” Charlie exclaimed, her hands clasped together as the enormous stadium sprung up around them. “This is… incredible!”

The vast bleachers shot up hundreds upon hundreds of feet into the air, dwarfing the hotel they surrounded, which was itself being turned into an ornate, multi-level stage. Screens the size of football fields were arranged in a pentagon on a scaffold above the hotel as dozens more lined the outside of the stadium and beyond, giving the predicted overflow of attendees a way to watch. Amps the size of office buildings sprung up for miles around, giant black monoliths surrounded by dangerously close concession stands and merch-booths. The Happy Hotel was the epicenter of what was shaping up to be the greatest show Hell had ever seen.

“Eh, it’s decent, we’ve played bigger,” said Pickles, examining the layout blueprints. “A bit more time and the right permits, we coulda gotten a central location in the city. Though, your idea of turnin’ the hotel into a stage, that’s a good bit ‘a PR!”

“You’ve played bigger shows?” Charlie said, awestruck.

“Yeah, like, the entire Middle East,” Pickles rolled up the blueprint. “You seriously never heard of us?”

Charlie smiled meekly and shrugged. “Not really my style of music.”

“Fair enough,” said Pickles, jabbing a thumb at himself. “Used to be a more hair metal guy, myself.”

“What’s hair metal?”

“Well, it’s…” Pickles paused, tapping his chin. “Huh. That’s a good question.”

Nathan approached them, flanked by two administrative Klokateers, a sheet of paper in his paw. “Got the show schedule. Figure a line-up of classics will go over well with the older fans down here, then some newer hits, and maybe that one song we’ve been working on. You know, f*riff*ing cherry on top.”

“Sounds good, Nathan,” Pickles said, looking around. “Hey, where’d Toki and Skwisgaar run off to?”

“We’s here, we’s here,” Skwisgaar said, a harrowed look in his eyes, Toki stood next to him, looking as though they’d just seen their own corpses.

“Where’d you go?” Pickles demanded. “We’re plannin’ a show here, you can’t just go runnin’ off!”

“We’s…” Skwisgaar glanced over his shoulder, standing next to a porta-john waving a hanky and blowing a kiss was Angel Dust. “We’s don’ts wants to talks about it.”

“I wanna go home…” Toki murmured, ear flat against his head, tail firmly between his legs.

“Whatever,” Nathan grunted, handing them the schedule. “Here’s the playlist. Limber up, we’re covering all the bases.”

Skwisgaar quickly read through the list and passed it to Toki, who didn’t even glance at it, dead eyes staring straight ahead, and handed it over to Charlie. Skwisgaar summoned his Explorer and therapeutically strummed through some notes.

Charlie examine the line-up, her brow furrowing. “Hey, you guys don’t have an opening act.”

“Yeah…” said Pickles, grimacing. “We’ve tried opening acts before. [It didn’t work out.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aCgTdlhrQ3s)”

“Oh! I know!” Charlie exclaimed, snapping her fingers. “I’ll open for you!”

“Hah!” Nathan snorted before frowning. “Oh, you’re serious.”

Pickles held his hands up, his snake hair shaking their heads. “Uh, Charlie, we appreciate the thought, but that’s a really, like, uh, _really_ bad idea. I mean, our fans–”

“Nonsense!” Charlie chirped, waving him off. “You’ll see, I can be pretty metal if want to be! Pretty ‘Brutal’! Heh-heh!”

“Charlie, look–” Nathan began to say, a crease of actual concern on his face.

“Great!” Charlie broke in, hands clapping joyfully. “I’ll go tell Razzle and Dazzle! Thanks boys!”

The four stood in silence as Charlie skipped away, a sweet smile on her face.

“Sh*riff*.”

“Spirited gal, ain’t she?” A hollow, staticky voice said.

Nathan looked over to see Alastor, grinning as always, standing just a little too close to Toki, who yelped and jumped away, peering out from behind Nathan.

“Great,” Nathan sighed, pinching the bridge of his snout. “This guy.”

“I must say, Mr. Explosion, while this whole ‘metal’ thing isn’t quite my style, I must applaud your dedication to theater.”

“Kay,” Nathan grumbled, not even looking at the mugging Radio Demon.

Alastor drew back at the dismissal, his eyebrow arching. “Why, Mr. Explosion, have I done something to offend you?”

“Well, you brought us here, dincha?” Pickles said, not looking up from the layout.

Alastor blinked in surprise, his grin narrowing to a smirk as he squinted. “…Whatever do you mean?”

Pickles gestured ‘one second’ before pointing to the layout and turning to an engineer Klokateer. “Blood fountain here, or here?”

“There, Sire. It would open up space for another merch-stand.”

“Right. Do that then.” Pickles pinched the bridge of his non-existent nose and turned to Alastor. “Look, y’got this whole ‘evil douchebag mastermind’ thing goin’ on. It’s kinda played out, right? So, uh, why don’t you just, y’know, f*riff* off and leave us alone, okay? We got work to do and we ain’t interested in your plans and demon bullsh*riff*.”

“Yeah,” Skwisgaar snorted, shooing him away. “Whys don’ts yous runs off and brush your mouths, smiles-guy? Yellows teeths ams gross.”

“Or stops drinkings so much coffees?” Toki muttered, walking out from behind Nathan’s mountainous bulk, a nervous, friendly smile on his face.

Alastor’s head snapped around with an audible crunch as he locked Toki with a glowing glare. He disappeared in a flash of static, reappearing an instant later, looming over the cowering wolf-demon, his mouth a motionless yellow lunette of jagged fangs, flickering as his spoke: B̮̯͉̝͙̗̎ͩ̊̃̂̋i̒̂̓ͨt͉e.̪̽ ̜̳͇̞͙̍͊ͮ̿́̈ͅY̹̹͍͎̝ͩ̓͒͂ͨo̲͉u̮̅r̤͉̞͚̬͕͈ͪͥ̂̎̾̿͊.̆͋͂̔ͥ ͑ͧ̑̂̾ͯT̼̩̻̝͔̺on̫̬̯̩̮̠͖gu͓̭ͨͨe̥̮̗̥͓̗ͯ̈́̋̓ͪ̓͌ͅ.̲̥̖̮͉̜̔͂̋̑ͬ̚

Toki whimpered and cowered as static and wingdings filled the air around the beaming horror.

A huge paw set down on Alastor’s shoulder, hissing arcs of Doomstar energy dispersing the symbols and shadowy aura like dust in a stiff breeze. Alastor’s eyes widened as a crease formed on his brow, he turned his head to look at the offending hand.

Someone was… _touching_ him?

He was spun around by the shoulder, a moment later a soccer-ball-sized fist smashed into his face. Alastor’s dark aura flickered and shorted out, evaporating as he was sent hurtling into an adjacent wall, cratering the concrete in an explosion of dust and debris. Alastor peeled off the wall and collapsed to the ground, hand clutched over his face as vile black blood gushed through his fingers when an enormous booted foot set down in front of him. Looming over him was Nathan, his huge frame encased in an undulated aura of red energy.

“Stop. Scaring. Toki.”

Alastor’s brow furrowed as he lowered his hand, his grin back with a vengeance albeit with missing and fractured teeth, those remaining streaked and stained with black ichor, his nose canted off to the side. Alastor's aura shuddered as he flickered like a broken tv set, his face restored to its former condition. He got to his feet and scowl-smiled up at Nathan as he towered over him.

“You have moxie, big fella!” Alastor sneered, summoning his cane. “That’s good. You’re going to need that for what’s coming.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Nathan rumbled. “F*riff* off.”

“The lengths I go to for a lark…” Alastor sighed and tapped his cane to the concrete.

A small squelch of static and he was gone.

Nathan grunted in disgust and turned back to Dethklok. “Every day with this magic bullsh*riff*… Right, where’s Murderface?”

“He saids he was gonna go sees Vaggie abouts a taco-stands or somethin’,” said Toki.

Nathan grinned and chuckled. “Oh-ho-ho! This I gotta see!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Al getting Klok'd after pushing Nathan's Toki-button and, like, two more scenes are pretty much the only reason I wrote this fic.  
> Strawberry Pimp, meet Mad Metal Bear Daddy.
> 
> Also, how do YOU think Charlie's going to open for Dethklok? Showtunes? Ballads? A tap-dance routine? ...But metal?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE'S THE FINALE
> 
> Sorry this took so long, but give it a read and I think you'll see why. So prepare yourselves for the most BRUTAL and METAL charity concert ever to blight the skyline of Hell itself!

Chapter 7  
  
I[n the darker recesses of Hell, the old umbral plains of deepest black where obsidian drifts danced in winds laden with the screams of the ancient damned.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rBl_1A63TU0) A fortress stood tall above the ashen earth, its walls aglow with flickering pits of icy flame, the one source of light in the darkness. Backdropped by this cold light was a massive figure, standing tall and proud amidst shifting, shadowy shapes.

Grand Duke Sallos stood in place, naked, his arms spread wide as cowering minions milled about him. With deference and fear they adorned his rippling body with ornate plates of armor, the demonic metal inlaid with depictions of past victories. His body clad in plate, he donned his great horned helm, his orange eyes blazing out from the abyssal pits of his visor. A hooded demon shuffled forward, in their burning, blistering hands a massive spear of seraphic steel, infinitely more pure and powerful than the simple butchers tools wielded by lesser angels in their annual hunts. An ancient weapon from a bygone era, a symbol of service and servitude, the spear of a proud and powerful seraphim, his true name lost to the eons. Sallos took the spear from the disintegrating hands of his minion and held it aloft, its shimmering surface crackling as it reacted with the defiled air of the realm.

He was ready.

He strode out onto the balcony where his top captains awaited him. They bowed their heads as he passed and followed after him towards the terrace. He looked out over his army, arranged into thirty perfect, disciplined squares of five thousand each: his legions. Each demon warrior millennia old and proven in skill and viciousness. They would serve him well.

“My Duke,” said his most trusted captain, a demoness by the name of Gallia. “The army is assembled, ready to do Your Excellency’s bidding.”

Sallos sensed her reticence, angling his head ever so slightly over his shoulder in an immeasurable show of respect. “Speak your mind.”

Never one to disobey a direct order, Gallia bowed and spoke: “Does the Upstart really warrant this kind of mobilization? I alone could exact Your Excellency’s will!”

“You are correct, Captain Gallia,” said Sallos, a smile in his voice. “And were it just the Radio Demon, I would have happily given you the honor. However, he has called in some mysterious figures to aid him. They have summoned a vast army of fanatic plebians to do their bidding. That is what the army is for.”

“Plebians? Damned? Sinners?” Gallia shook her head, confused. “It would take but a single legion to snuff a million such underlings! Not to give in to baseless conjecture, but I would suspect Your Excellency of theatrical overkill.”

Sallos grinned at this, even in uniform and observing the strictest modes of decorum, Gallia was as outspoken as ever. “Your conjecture bears out, Captain. Should the denizens of Hell mobilize against the Aristocracy, they must be made example of. We are sending a message: the rule of the Inner Circle cannot be questioned.”

“Understood, Your Excellency,” said Gallia, bowing. “I still have trouble imagining what manner of beings could inspire such suicidal devotion. To defy the supremacy of the Inner Circle, they must be demons of terrible power and ferocity.”  
  
  
Dethklok stood on and watched a Vaggie unleashed another brutal kick to Murderface’s crotch, laughing and clapping as she wound up for another.

“That never gets old,” Nathan said, snickering.

Pickles wiped a tear from his eye. “Should we, heh-heh, should we step in? It’s been, like, five whole minutes.”

“One more time, then we’re good.”

“Aw, looks likes shes getting tireds,” Skwisgaar said, pointing at Vaggie as she marched away from the groaning, curled-up Murderface.

“Oh, no, waits!” Toki exclaimed. “Ones more! Ones more!”

The sound of rapidly approaching clacks filled the air, Vaggie’s heels hammered into the pavement as she sprinted towards the recovering Murderface, who was shakily getting to his feet, his wobbly legs spread wide. With a running start, Vaggie unleashed a final, brutal kin-geri from behind, launching a screaming Murderface high into the air where he wrapped around a streetlight, dangling limply from the pole.

Vaggie looked up and saw Dethklok standing there. “Okay, I’m done.”

She stormed off and Nathan walked over, shaking the the streetlight violently until Murderface plopped unceremoniously to the ground. “Hey man. I think she likes you.”

“You think sho?” Murderface gurgled, facedown on the pavement.

“Oh, totally,” said Pickles, helping him up. “But we gotta show to do, so, y’know, put it on the back burner and get ready.”

The crowd began to surge in, first a trickle, then a wave, and then an unstoppable tide of demonic bodies. The massive bleachers and ground floor of the giant stadium filled within hours, with countless more clotting the freshly leveled area around the main event. Klokateers manned the merch booths and food trucks, corralling customers to various venues and attractions. Overhead, a small fleet of Channel 666 helicopters milled about over the seemingly endless sea of hellions, shooting down and driving off other news stations. The crowd buzzed and surged with excitement, the air charged and electric, the show was about to begin.

“Decent turn-out,” said Pickles, watching the endless sea of inhuman bodies mill and seethe. “I mean, for a short-notice throw-together.”

“Yeah, it’s come together great,” Nathan conceded. “The Klokateers really pulled this one off.”

“Guysh, what’s Charlie doing out there?” Murderface said, tuning his bass. “Oh, ish she gonna give a little shpeach or shomething?”

“Ah, sh*riff* right!” Pickles groaned. “Charlie’s gonna try and open for us.”

“She’sh WHAT?!” Murderface said, horrified. “We gotta help her!”

“I’m on it, I’m on it!” Pickles said, pulling out a walkie-talkie and talking into it. “Security, get ready to slow the crowd down and give her time to escape.”

“It will be done, My Lord,” was the response. “We will lay our lives down for Lucifer’s daughter.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Pickles rolled his eyes. “Just make sure she doesn’t get hurt.”

Pickles put the walkie-talkie away and did a small, belated double-take. “Wait, ‘Lucifer’s daughter’?”

Charlie skipped out onto the primary stage, fearlessly facing down the veritable deluge of Hellions surrounding her in the courtyard, the bleachers, and the razed, flattened former neighborhood beyond the stadium. She cleared her throat and tapped the mic, feedback screeching over the building-sized speakers, her beaming face lighting up the dozens of football-sized screens dotting the land for miles around.

The crowd went silent. “Who the fuck is this bitch?”

“Heeeeellooooo Hell!” Charlie cheered into the mic. “Are you all ready to rock!?”

A cough could be heard.

“Great! You know, it really warms my heart to see how many of your are willing to change! Redemption won’t be easy, but just look around you! With a positive mental attitude, anything is possible!”

A single voice carried across the silence. “What!”

Pickles buried his face in his hands. “Oh christ…”

“Well!” Charlie continued, if she was put off by the chilly reception, or even noticed it at all, she did not show it. “Dethklok has been kind enough to let me open for them in their first show in Hell! Behind me you can see my guitarist Razzle!”

“Baaah!” Bleated Razzle, holding a stratocaster several sizes too big for him.

“And on the drums is Dazzle! Say hello, Dazzle!”

(Rim-shot)

The sound of countless bladed weapons being unsheathed filled the stadium, the fury and wrath of the the countless fans silent and cold as death itself.

“Okee-dokie!” Charlie chirped, clearing her throat. “Without further ado…”

Blinding light consumed the stage, a blast of superheated air exploded outwards in a shockwave, knocking those nearest the stage flat on their backs, their weapons torn out of their hands to carve bloody swathes through the throng behind them. Charlie stepped out from within a pillar of red light, blond hair thrashing and undulating upwards like tongues of flame. Her ensemble had changed from her usual red tuxedo to a red leather corset overlaid by a black studded jacket, her heels replaced with spiky, toothed knee-high elevator boots. Her eyes, glowing red, were done up in thick black mascara that ran down her pale cheeks in gummy black tears, streaking her cheek spots, now pulsing pits of crimson light. Razzle and Dazzle burst into blue flame and quadrupled in size, their horns curling back and around as their muzzles split with massive fangs, their formerly cute, unassuming faces now demonic masks of hateful joy as they punished their instruments, producing a thudding, rabid string of notes. Charlie leaned forward, grabbing the mic and raising it to her mouth, full of sharp, serrated teeth.

[“OOOOH GGGGOOOOOOOOOOD!”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7siAkE8aqSs)

The speakers thrummed and glowed red as Charlie’s voice tore from them. The demons nearest the monolithic towers of sound were burnt, flayed to the bone, or outright disintegrated by the brutal shockwaves. Those outside the destructive radius of the sonic blast were stunned for a moment before their faces split into toothy smiles and awestruck visages of reverence. The crowd within and without the stadium began to pulse and jump to the music, hands waving in the air as the music played. Soon all were lost in a sea of jubilation, the concert was underway.  
  
In the distance, a massive portal opened. From this ring of hellfire marched a massive army, their banners proudly displayed and waving in the wind. Overhead, hundreds of mounted Hellbeasts soared in perfect formation, executing well-practiced maneuvers to impress their lord. Sallos and his commanders exited last, atop their mighty steeds, huge demonic crocodiles. Sallos spied the huge congregation with a withering glare; it was even worse than he thought. For such a gathering of Hellions to occur without a royal decree or mandate, only rebellion and war could result.

“The Upstart has raised an army!” Sallos roared. “We must strike now, before they organize!”

“What is that wretched noise?!” Captain Gallia exclaimed, wincing at the demonic roars and harsh, brutal melodies emanating from the center of the congregation. “Some manner of ancient spell?”

“It sounds like _Forgiven_ by I, The Breather,” said one of the rank-and-file. “But a lot more metal.”

Captain Gallia offhandedly vaporized the talkative demon with a wave of her spear. “Speak when spoken to, maggot.”

“It matters not how metal it is!” Cried Sallos, holding his spear aloft. “We will make a brutal example of these traitors! All save for the Heiress are to be exterminated!”

“CHARGE!!” Captain Gallia roared, spear raised.

The army bellowed in response and hurled themselves towards the gathering at full speed.

  
As the song wound down, Charlie gave the crowd a bow. Raucous applause shook the stadium as camera flashes popped and burst by the thousand.

“Thank you! Thank you all so much!” Charlie said, her voice just as sweet and charming as ever. “Before we get the main show rolling, just let me say this: you’ve all got something good in you. You’ve all got love in your hearts. Why else would you be here if you didn’t love metal? If you didn’t love music? If you didn’t love Dethklok?”

The crowd cheered at the mention of the name, an explosion of sound and brutal joy.

“Yeah!” Charlie cheered back, pumping her fist in the air. “So if you take nothing from this concert, take this: In the words of Dethklok themselves ‘Hell f*riff*ing sucks!’ So, why not leave? …But seriously, leave with some merch and hit up those taco-stands.”

The sounds of machinery rose from behind her, followed by an odd metallic thrumming. Charlie turned around to see Dethklok rising from the stage, each on their own hovering platforms.

“How was the sound-mixing on _that_?” Charlie called out to them, hand on the mic and a playful smile on her face.

“That was f*riff*ing awesome, Charlie!” Pickles replied, tapping his drumsticks together.

“Prettys good,” Skwisgaar said, smirking. “Yous goats guys amsn’t bads at musicks.”

“Ba~h,” said Razzle, nonchalant, polishing his hooves on his lapel.

“That was greats, Charlies! You was real brutal!” Toki cheered, tail wagging feverishly

“William?” Charlie said, squinting. “Are you crying?”

“N-no!” Murderface stammered, hiding his face. “I’m jusht… shweating from my eysh!”

“Yeah, that was pretty great. Well, better get this show on the road!” Nathan said, smirking at Charlie. “Care to do the honors?”

[Charlie beamed and spun back around to the crowd. “Now! Without further ado, allow me to introduce the most brutal band in all of Hell! On drums, Pickles the Drummer!”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yyw0xeOwVd0)

Pickles’s platform rose into the air and hovered above the top stage and loosed a blistering drum solo followed by a crackling pyrotechnic blast from the stage, prompting a raucous cheer from the crowd.

“And on lead guitar and rhythm guitar, Skwisgaar Skwigelf and Toki Wartooth!”

The pair hovered over to the two middle stages built onto the side of the hotel and unleashed a short dueling series of notes. The crowd roared in gruesome joy, the endless sea of bodies surrounding the hotel pulsed and undulated.

“Playing the bass, the inimitable William! Murderface!”

Murderface’s platform set down on the middle stage. He threw up the horns and scowled at the audience. The crowd cheered and chanted. “Mur! Der! Face! Mur! Der! Face! Mur! Der! Face!”

“And finally! Providing the vocals, Nathan! EXPLOOOOOOSIOOOOOOON!”

The stadium erupted into thunderous applause as pillars of flame burst forth from the stage perimeters.

“ ** _We call out to the beasts of the sea to come forth and join us, this night is yours…_** ”

  
The army surged through the streets, laying waste to all in their path. Foot soldiers and crocodilian cavalry trampling and slashing at anyone who did not flee. A column of infantry bore down on a huddled group of fans, spears glinting in the streetlights.

“By decree of Duke Sallos, yours lives are forfeit!” The lead demon cried, scimitar raised. “Prepare to meet obliv–”

He was cut off by shrill whistle followed by a distant crack as his lower jaw exploded into a cloud of blood, bone, and teeth. An instant later a fusillade of high-calibre bullets shrieked through the air, pulping his body and tearing into the tightly packed ranks of warriors, splattering the front-most lines. Attack helicopters streaked overhead, the thud of autocannons and roar of missiles were underscored by explosions and demonic wails. The remaining soldiers reformed and locked shields, projecting a protective dome over their ranks. One of the helicopters hovered before the shield wall. A projector swiveled on the craft’s nose, keening as a beam of light shone from it. A manic-looking flayed skull resplendent with horns appeared in the air.

“Hey pals! It’s me! FAAAAAACEBOOOOOONES!”

“Hi, Facebones!” One of the demonic legion’s numbers called out.

“I see you’re all rip-rearin’ to get to the concert! That’s GREAT! But it seems that in your hurry, y’all forgot to pay admission, therefore lethal force has been authorized! You have 20 seconds to pay admission or be exterminated! WHOOOOOOOAAAAA! Ifyousurvivesomehowconsiderbuyingsomemeeeeeeeerch!”

The helicopter’s autocannons swiveled and trained on the shield-wall, its missiles primed. A green fireball smashed into the mid-hull of the aircraft, consuming it in a fiery explosion. A wing of fell beasts soared past the cloud of flaming rubble to the cheers of the legionaries, who resumed their advance.

  
Far away, in the concert control center, an alarm blared. Olaf sneered and looked about. “What now?”

“We have a major security breech!” a Klokateer announced. “A large force has breeched the outer perimeter. Number: approximately one-hundred-fifty-thousand. They’re heavily armed and have full air-support.”

“Those swine will pay the five dollar admission and like it!” Olaf growled, dark energy writhing about him. “Scramble the air force! I’ll meet the violators on the ground with security branches four, two, and five!”

[The air itself writhed with sound as hundreds of craft took to the skies.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F9LOAdP9iIQ) The monumental bulk of several dethcopters lumbered through the air, surrounded by swarms of relatively tiny attack helicopters and low-flying fighter-jets. Below, battalions of Klokateers surged forward, flanked by tanks, light fighting vehicles, low-flying hovercraft, and hellish cavalry. The massive security force rushed to meet the invading army, trampling concert-goers as they attempted to flee, bodies mulched under boot, wheel, and track. Sallos’ demonic legions roared in jubilation as they charged forward, their draconic air-force forming up and unleashing a torrent of hellfire. Explosions dotted the helicopter formations as several of the smaller craft were annihilated, but the flames simply splashed across the sturdy hulls of the giant dethcopters, which responded by opening fire with all weapons. The attack choppers followed suit and soon the sky was ablaze with explosions, fireballs, and pulverized viscera and metal debris.

The armies met on the ground. Heavy weaponry roared, explosions thudded, and metal clashed. The Klokateers swarmed over the individually superior demonic warriors of the Duke’s army, slain by the dozens to ensure a single kill, their lack of power more than made up for by their ferocity and fanaticism. A single slash from a sword rent five in half, but the sixth latched onto the warrior as he overextended his swing. The hooded hellion cackled madly as he set off the claymore affixed to his chest, disappearing in a squall of gore as hundreds of seraphic ball-bearings shredded dozens of the Duke’s warriors.

“They fight like madmen!” Captain Gallia muttered, horrified. “Do they not care for their own lives?”

The assorted host, save for the Duke, all flinched and covered their eyes as a tactical nuke flared in the distance, vaporizing a large section of the neighborhood.

“Evidently not.” Duke Sallos turned to Gallia. “Mobilize the cavalry. Lead the next charge. We are not to be stymied by commoners, not even for an instant. Is that understood?”

The esteemed Captain stood stiff and saluted. “Perfectly, Your Excellency!”

Gallia bellowed and raised her spear over her head, lightning and hellfire wreathing the shaft and tip. Thousands of demons riding giant hellish crocodiles roared in response and charged, their Captain at the head. A wall of scales, teeth, claws, and armor smashed into the ranks of the the Klokateer army, the giant reptiles quite literally wading through them. Dozens disappeared in a splash of blood and limbs as the massive toothed maws snapped shut, more still were pulped against the pavement by stomping feet and low, armored bellies. The ranks reformed and poured hundreds of rounds and missiles into the armored beasts, to no effect.

From the back of the security formation, Olaf observed the slaughter with flat interest. “Hm. Crocodile cavalry. Call and raise, Duke Sallos! Mount up, men!”

[The Klokateers saluted and hopped onto their massive, six-legged horses, their manes of writhing hellfire as sparks and smoke billowed from their nostrils.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QuphOxBX8YI) The Klokateer cavalry surged into the thick of battle, their steel hooves glowing orange as they stomped molten craters into the ground. Friend and foe alike were trampled and incinerated by the terrible storm of hot metal. A Klokateer charged up to one of the crocodilian cavalry, lance raised. The lance, tipped not with a spear, but a pointed HEAT warhead, contacted the beast’s hide, between the gaps in its armor scales, blasting a fist-sized hole through the based of the creature’s skull, killing it. The explosion knocked the rider from his steed to be torn limb-from-limb by the remaining Klokateers.

“Filthy mortals!” Captain Gallia growled, slashing with her spear from top her steed, reducing a score of Klokateers to embers. “Uppity peasants! Know your place!”

The HEAT tip of a lance connected with her breastplate and she was consumed in a flash of heat and light. The hypersonic jet of superheated metal knocked her from her saddle and sent her skidding across the bloody, viscera-strewn pavement. Gallia rose to her feet, smoldering but unharmed. Instantly, the hooded fanatics swarmed her, weapons black with clotted blood. She strode through them, spear dancing and spinning, reducing them to ash and glowing coals as the venerated Captain hewed their dense ranks.

“Pathetic.”

“Captain Gallia,” said a familiar voice, clear and strong over the din. “Never took you for a fence-hopping delinquent.”

“Olaf,” Gallia hissed, turning to face him. “So, we meet again.”

Before her hovered Olaf, encased in a writhing black aura. “Just pay the admission fee, Gallia. It’s, like, five bucks.”

Gallia grinned and readied her spear. “Sorry, left my wallet in my other suit of armor!”

With a hellish scream she launched herself at him. Olaf caught her and the two clashed above the gruesome melee, auras clashing, writhing, tendrils of energy scoring molten slashes into the ground below.

  
“This is…” Duke Sallos shook with fury, massive fists clenched, his red aura crackling like a Tesla coil, “…Unacceptable! My armies, my warriors, rebuffed by mortals! By peasants! This is unforgivable!”

He levitated from the back of his steed and grasped his spear in both hands, eyes baleful pits of crimson light. “That I must resort to _this_ to overcome these proles…”

Sallos roared and plunged his spear into his crocodile’s neck. The beast roared and thrashed as dark, corrupting energy poured from the archdevil through the spear and into its flesh. The already monstrous creature began to contort and extend, its flesh splitting and rending, mending, and fusing, over and over again as it expanded in size and changed shape. The crocodile reared up on its hind-legs, now hundreds of feet tall. It roared, fire and lightning spewing from its glowing maw. The firestorm rolled through the mob before the giant monster, vaporizing Klokateer and Ducal soldier alike. The feral, enraged giant bellowed and set forward into the intertwined armies, slaughtering indiscriminately.

“Now! Face my fury!” Sallos bellowed. “Know what it means to side against the Inner Circle!”

The Klokateers gawped up at the rampaging beast, opening fire every weapon they had their disposal. The twisted crocodile’s body was peppered with explosions, a shoulder-launched missile detonating against its eye without much effect. The mountain of scales and muscle bellowed and swept thousands aside with a swipe of its tail, leaving a vast swathe of pulped gore in its wake.

[Then, from the speakers, came the musical chant. “Musta! Krakish!”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=awT8FFHKikc)

Duke Sallos felt the air grow heavy, thick with energy. “Wh-what?!”

“Musta! Krakish!”

The towering speakers dotting the landscape glowed red, beams of energy streaking between them, forming a giant glowing pentagram. A terrible howl split the air as a huge sinewy arm rose up from the burning center of the sigil. A massive form pulled itself up from the churning sea of power, a monstrous troll of mountainous size.

“I-impossible!” Sallos cried as the creature hurled itself at his mutated crocodile, tackling it to the ground with seismic force.

Mustakrakish growled as he wrestled the equally massive mutant, the tousling giants laying waste to entire neighborhoods. The titans writhed and struggled, merely adding to the chaos as the two forces continued to clash, the city an unrecognizable flurry of explosions, blood, and glinting steel.

Duke Sallos levitated above the scrum, shaking with rage. Never before had he been so insulted, so disrespected. That he, a Grand Duke of Hell itself, General of its most ancient and venerated army, was now forced to engage in combat. The Upstart would pay dearly for this obstinance, him and his mysterious cacophonous allies. If his army could not bring him their heads, he would have to do it himself!

[Sallos’ aura glowed bright, a small star of pure, ancient rage.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0tFsJwB5bco) A meteor of fury, he streaked through the air, vaporizing entire wings of attack helicopters, smashing through a massive dethcopter, gutting it utterly. Sallos left the battlefield behind and flew towards the distant stadium, shrugging off AA fire and missiles as the concert’s defenses sprung into action. Nearer and nearer he drew, unaffected by the repeated impacts of cannon-fire and tandem warheads, his focus pure and unerring, goaded onward by hatred and outrage. He was so close now. Atop the five main pillars of the stadium, huge laser cannons sprung to life and trained on the incoming demon lord. A lance of intense light flared against his breastplate, flash-vaporizing a section of it in an instant. The Duke was enveloped in a shell of plasma hotter than any star in the mortal realm, hotter than hellfire. Four more lances converged on the mid-air explosion, pouring pulse after pulse of coherent light into their target. Duke Sallos roared in rage, pulses of demonic energy traveling along the beams, destroying the laser cannons simultaneously. Sallos hovered high above the stadium, his armor a glowing, molten tatters on his smoking grey body. His once proud helm melted and slid down his face like tallow in rivulets of glowing, molten metal. His once-handsome and stately countenance ravaged by indignant fury: that actually _hurt!_

“You…” Sallos growled, eyes tiny crimson stars. “FILTH!!”

He raised his seraphic spear high over his head, marshaling all of his vast demonic power into a single blast. He pointed the spear down at the stadium, chock-full of millions of denizens, the Upstart, his mercenaries, and even the Heiress. It mattered not. All would die screaming in the flames of his rancor. The speartip glowed with energy, arcing bands of power crawling up and down its pristine metallic surface. With one final bellow he unleashed his own brand of Hell, a bygone fury not seen since The Fall, and loosed a massive blast of demonic rage down at the pulsing masses of Hellions.

“Now! DIE!!”

As the last notes of Laser Cannon Deth Sentence wound down, Dethklok assembled on the main stage at the base of the Hotel.

“Whadaya think?” Pickles said to Nathan over their headsets. “We got ‘em revved, should we bust out the new material?”

“Let’s do it! New Album, Number 9!” Nathan said to the rest of the band, before speaking into the mic. “And now. For all you wretched sinners out there, a reward for your brutality and faith, you will be the first to hear a work from our brand new album! I give you all! A taste of true Hell!”

The drumbeat set a marching pace as the string instruments added layers of menace, after a minute of build-up Nathan broke in with his customary roar. [“MOOORRRTAAAAAAL!!”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nDqwijVa_XI)

The crowd cheered furiously as Dethklok levitated above the stage, encased in pure Doomstar energy. The aura pulsed and radiated outward until it suffused the entire stadium in its glow. From high above, a bolt of concentrated malice lanced downwards, impacting the aura. The red-white torrent of demonic fury splashed against the shield and broke like water against the stone. The aura bowed in for a moment before snapping back out, sending its own beam out against the offending blast. The Doomstar energy effortlessly pushed up and through the torrent of demonic power, up and up, towards its source.

  
“What?!” Sallos growled through gritted teeth. “No… stop! You dare resist _me_?! I am Grand Duke SALLOS!! I cannot be defeated by the likes of you!!”

The surge bore up at him, consuming his own blast without a whit of resistance. It was almost upon him now, an unavoidable wave of God-like power.

“No! NOOOOOOO!” Sallos screamed as he was consumed by a wall of blinding white light, his aura snuffed like a candle and replaced only with razing otherworldly power.

Dethklok wrapped up their newest song and basked in the roaring adulation of their fans. Demons of all stripe and rank filled the bleaches and ground, each elated and cheering with vigor, united among peers in their love of Dethklok. Nathan and the rest of Dethklok stepped off their hover platforms and strode out onto the stage, fists raised to the sky.

“All of you sinners out there! All you demons! You wretched husks of sin and hatred! Dethklok has come to this f*riff*ing lame plane of existence to make your lives a tiny bit less pointless and miserable! This Hell is run by edgy, cringy dip-sh*riff*s! Every second you spend here is f*riff*ing _embarrassing_! If you take nothing from this show, take this: get outta here any way you can. Hit up the Happy Hotel and get yourself redeemed, if only to spare _us_ the embarrassment of having fans in this sh*riff*hole! Thank you, and goodnight!”

The crowd bellowed and undulated, moved by the message of their idols, the air itself came alight with demonic energy as it surged from the countless hellions from both within and without the stadium.

“Goods speech, Nathans,” Skwisgaar chuckled. “Soundeds familiars.”

“I pretty much just tweaked my end-of-show speech when we toured Wisconsin.”

“Hey, do you guys feel that?” Pickles said, noticing his snake-hair standing on end. “Sh*riff*, somethin’s happenin’!”

“The air feelsh… schticky.”

“We’s supposeds to do’s somethings, guys! This mights bes our ones shot!”

A huge, smoldering body plummeted from the sky and crashed into the stage at their feet. A massive, muscular bearded man shakily rose to his feet, naked save for a few tatters of blackened cloth and a single red-hot shard of metal. In his hands he clutched a tarnished, cracked spear, energy arcing a sputtering about it, sparks shooting from the cracks in its formerly pristine surface.

“Who’sh thish douschebag?”

The bearded demon stepped forward, the simple motion a triumph of sheer willpower as the rest of his frame trembled and shook. He leveled the spear at Nathan, his dazed, unfocused eyes flickering with weak red light. Nathan snorted as a tiny flash of energy touched the spear, causing it to keen and oscillate before shattering into tiny, dust-like shards. The battered demon’s eyes rolled back in his head as he collapsed to his hands and knees.

“I… am Grand Duke Sallos. General of Hell’s armies. One of the Fallen and Commander of Lucifer’s Infernal Host,” he croaked. “I am beaten… I acknowledge your strength. Do… do as you will.”

“Uh…” Nathan looked at his bandmates, who shrugged. “Kay.”

“Wait!” Murderface exclaimed. “Shtand back. I got thish!”

Murderface loomed over the defeated man, hand extended as a ball of Doomstar energy flared. The ‘pop’ of plastic echoed over the speakers followed shortly by the squeak of felt on skin.

“There we go,” Murderface said, standing up, a Sharpie in his hand. “Perfect.”

Scrawled across Sallos’ forehead was William Murderface’s surprisingly clean and florid signature.

“That’sh what you wanted, right, Cueball?”

“Sh*riff*, you just shoulda said so!” Nathan said, stepping forward, Sharpie in hand.

The rest of Dethklok followed suit and surrounded Sallos, felt-tips squeaking and wrists flicking. When they pulled back, their signatures scrawled all over his shiny bald head and mortified face.

“There ya go, bud!” Murderface chuckled. “Now get on outta here, you li’l Shcamp!”

Sallos whimpered and crawled off stage to the jeers and laughter of the assembled demons, his humiliation broadcast to no only the attendees of the concert, but also to everyone watching Channel 666, who was providing full coverage.

“Hey, that felt good,” Nathan rumbled. “Giving that bald dipsh*riff* what he wanted free of charge.”

“Yeah, felt right, like we helped ‘im.” Pickles mused

“Wait! That’sh it!” Murderface exclaimed. “We shtill got the shtage, and all thish energy in the air! We gotta shill like banditsh!”

Murderface took the mic from Nathan stepped to the fore. “Lishen everybody! We got shomthing to shay before we go! Thish show wouldn’t have been posshible without the hard work of the Klokateersh! Let’sh have a big cheer for our boysh in black!”

A thunderous roar split the air as the crowd erupted into raucous cheers, Klokateers all around the stadium were beset with backpats, handshakes, and handjobs. Outside, the tattered army sat with their former opponents around blazing piles of corpses, sharing deth-brews and wearing Dethklok merch. Mustakrakish and the Duke’s former steed pulled on another into affectionate bro-hugs as dethcopters airlifted massive Dethklok t-shirts over to them. Gallia and Olaf sat together, on an upturned tank, clinking their beers together as they watched on one of the massive screens.

“And all of you out there who want to buy our new album, be shure to hit up the Happy Hotel and get redeemed! Charlie, Vaggie, Rashle, Dashle, get on up here!” Murderface turned around and pointed off-stage. “C’mon! Take a bow!”

Charlie and the Bois rushed out on stage, dragging a reluctant Vaggie on-stage. They took a bow as the crowd bellowed, cheering their support. Charlie led them all through a group-bow.

A flare of static and red light exploded to Nathan’s right, Alastor stepped out of the pillar of crimson energy, surrounded by wingdings. “Ah-ha-ha-ha! Is it time to take my bow?”

Nathan said nothing, not even acknowledging Alastor’s existence. Instead, he simply raised his massive fist high in the air and brought it down on the leering deer-demon’s head with incalculable strength. Alastor soundlessly crumpled under the force of the blow as it smashed him clear through the stage in a flash of Doomstar power.

The crowd cheered louder than ever.

The air came alive with demonic energy, it crackled and buzzed as it wreathed Dethklok in light, lifting them into the air.

“Whoa, hey,” Nathan growled. “What’s happening?”

“Clench yer a*riff*holes, guys, I think this is it!” Pickles cried.

“Abouts time,” Skwisgaar sneered. “I was startings to likes this place.”

“Goodbyes Charlie!” Toki called out. “I’ll miss yous!”

“Vaggie, my love!” Murderface said, tearfully. “Don’t wait for me! Move on with your life!”

“Will you fuck off already, you disgusting toad?!” Vaggie snapped back.

“Nathan, Pickles, Skwisgaar, Toki, William!” Charlie shouted up at them. “Remember! You can be brutal _and_ good! Promote unity through music!”

“What!” Nathan called back. “I didn’t catch that last part!”

“I said–”

Charlie was cut off by the sky splitting open and as pillar of light shone down from on high. Dethklok was sucked up the pillar at breakneck speeds, disappearing into the fissure, which itself closed with a flash and thunderclap.

Charlie gazed the sky, forlornly. A Klokateer approached her from off stage, a sheet of paper in his hand.

“Mistress Magne,” he croaked, handing her the sheet. “The bill.”

The sheet unfolded several times until it reached the ground… and kept going until it tumbled off-stage and into the crowd.

Charlie stared at the preposterous sum, her eyes wide. “Uh…”

  
Dethklok reclined in their hot-tub in Mordhaus, sipping fancy drinks and eating chicken wings.

“So Deer-F*riff*er was the one who sent that snake?” Nathan said. “Figures.”

Pickles nodded. “Yeah. Turns out one of the hotel staff in Misnk was big into Ouija boards and sh*riff*.”

“We’ll haves to demands discounts there next times,” Skwisgaar grumbled. “Pains in thes ass.”

“I had fun!” Toki said, before frowning. “Mostlys, anyways…”

“We’s nevers to talks abouts thats, Tokis!” Skwisgaar screamed. “NEVERS!”

“Hey guysh! Check it out!” Murderface said, brandishing a fridge magnet with excitement. “Watch what happensh when I put thish magnet on my new metal skull-plate!”

Murderface stuck the little banana-shaped magnet on his freshly stitched forehead with a ‘clunk’. “!ti deyojne I dna rediphs-yug taht dekcuf I”

“Whoas, that ams real cools Moidahface! You ams talkings likes a Fooglie!”

“Wait, what didja say?” Pickles narrowed his eyes.

“?taht doothsrednu uoY !tihs hO” said Murderface, flicking the magnet off his forehead.

A short, pregnant pause filled the air as Dethklok exchanged uncomfortable glances.

Nathan broke the silence, clearing his throat. “So, uh, just gonna throw this out there but… who else fucked that spider-guy? I… I did.”

“Yep.”

“Yeah, I dids.”

“Mes too.”

“Besht fifty grand I ever shpent! There, I shaid it! I’m not ashamed!”

“Urrgh… right.” Nathan pinched the bridge of his nose and reclined back into the warm water. “Let's never speak of this again.”

“Wait, wait, hold up. He charged you guysh money, too, right?”  
  
  
THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wahey! Thus concludes possibly the strangest crossover I've ever done! 
> 
> Let me know what you thought of it in the comments below, and share this fic with your friends, family, and strangers on the street!
> 
> There's more content coming down the pipe, me and Laz Briar will be collabing on a SPOOOOOOOKY Hazbin story for the premier and Halloween! 
> 
> Stay tuned, folks!


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